


My Favorite Face

by MaiasPen



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Inspired by Shadowhunters (TV), M/M, Parabatai Bond, Parabatai Feels, Sexy, Sexy Times, jalec - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 95,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiasPen/pseuds/MaiasPen
Summary: The mission should’ve been a cakewalk. ‘Team Parabatai’ expect to confront a handful of vampires, retrieve Magnus’ stolen artifact, and be home in time for dinner. But the vampires have other meal plans for Jace and Alec. *Warning: angst & violence alert! The first chapter is DARK AF. JALEC.Scenes of  MALEC and CLACE but JALEC ENDGAME! ***This is a JALEC story.****Story takes places a few years after the television series ended. *Slow Burn, but sexy story.
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Alec Lightwood/Jace Wayland, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 154
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Advocate_lightwood20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Advocate_lightwood20/gifts).



> Warning: Chapter 1 includes graphic VAMPIRE VIOLENCE. The content is darker than the inside of a vamp’s coffin on a moonless night. If ya like ‘light-n-fluffy’ best to skip this one.  
> Also included are JALEC & MALEC references. 
> 
> *Story takes places a few years after the television series ended. 
> 
> *Advocate_lightwood20: Credit where it's due! I'm gonna try and challenge and level-up my writing skills here! Thanks for the nudge.

**My Favorite Face**

**By Maia’s Pen**

****

Chapter 1

(Jace)

“I’m serious, Jace, you’re my _back-up only_ this time. When we find the vamps you need to _stay outside_.” Alec’s tone is wary, and for good reason. But the source of his caution has nothing to do with our hiking through the middle-of-nowhere-Vermont after a renege vampire.

“Yeah, I know. I heard Clary threaten you.” My laughter annoys him just like the mosquitos who’ve been stalking us since we arrived. We seriously do not have bloodsuckers this big in the city, _well,_ at least not of the insect variety. But Alec and I are far from New York City now, at least three-hundred miles north. Magnus created a portal and then dropped us off in an abandoned sugarbush farm. I speak weapons, not farming, but Alec said that ‘once upon a time’ maple trees were grown and harvested here to make syrup.

In a nut-shell: we’re wandering through some deep-ass woods and it’s a technological miracle that we have cellphone reception.

The full moon grants a spectacular spotlight on Alec’s ‘woe-is-me’ eye-roll. “Clary said, and I quote, _‘Jace’s perfect face needs to stay perfect for our wedding photos’._ Then your charming fiancée added that she would _shove a paintbrush up my ass_ if you come home with a scratch.”

“Sounds like somethin’ you might enjoy.”

“Ha-ha, my parabatai is hilarious.” Alec speaks with the enthusiasm of a rock. And not even like a quartz, like one of those drab-gray-generic driveway stones. “While I’m thrilled for you and Clary, I can’t wait for this wedding of yours to be over.”

“Only two more days, Alec! And then . . . get your pool floaties ready, cuz the tears of New York’s single women are gonna flood the world like Noah’s Ark 2.0.” I stroke my arms through the air like I’m swimming.

Alec raises a skeptically-entertained eyebrow at my mime-swimming performance. “Oh, there’ll be tears alright, but they’ll be mine. _Tears of relief_ for the wedding to be over. Magnus has been fussing over your wedding details for months now. It’s legitimately givin’ me gray hairs.” Alec clears his throat and does something very disturbing: _jazz-hands_. He’s impersonating his magical husband, but it looks like he’s been possessed by a puppeteer without any puppets. “ _Oh, Alexander, darling, do you prefer the virgin-pearl colored napkins or the mother-of-pearl colored napkins?”_

I hope my expression does justice to my alarm. “Alec, are you jerking off a giraffe? Please _never_ do that with your hands again."

 _“Whatever.”_ Alec flashes me his middle finger. “But, Jace, the wedding details are nonstop. _And_ all the shades of white look the same! I mean, I want you to have nice napkins and chair skirts and—”

“What the hell is a chair skirt?”

“I’m not even sure! But I had to look at fifty white swatches to help pick!”

I make a face like I’ve swallowed a bug and Alec laughs, smiling my favorite smile in the whole world. It’s easier to tug a hamburger from a werwolf than a genuine grin from him, but I’ve spent most of life mastering ‘The Art of Amusing Alec’. My parabatai’s smile not only lights up his face, but lights up my entire life.

“Sympathies, but,” I pluck a stick from the forrest floor and make a rude gesture toward my ass. “I’d rather take the paintbrush than the party planning. My hair would fall out dealing with that. Be thankful you’re only goin’ gray.” An Alec-teasing-opportunity knocks and I answer with gusto! One of my favorite pastimes is to poke Alec about his cougar husband. “But, _hey_ , speaking of goin’ gray . . . you’ll be twenty-seven this year. You must be creepin’ up on the ‘divorce age’ for Magnus by now. Isn't it time for your beau to trade ya in for a newer model yet?”

Alec pokes back, tone drenched in sarcasm: “ _Whoa, Herondale_ , your wit is _hot_ today. Simon better guard his position as ‘most irritating’ in our group.”

“Did you just call me _‘hot’_ , Lightwood?” I pucker my lips and bat my bedroom eyes. “You know, _big boy_ , I’m still a free man for two more nights.”

“Ew.” Alec turns away so I can’t see him blush, but I know he’s redder than a demon egg.

Although Alec is a happily married man — _and has long-since fallen out of love with me—_ I know that he still finds me attractive. And, _I dunno_ , I guess my ravenous ego likes the snack. I would never have faux-flirted with Alec when he was _actually_ into me, that would have confused my sensitive parabatai. But, hell, it’s all just harmless banter now.

“Back to the presented topic,” Alec says in his ‘official Clave diplomat’ voice. “I do think the stress of the wedding is getting to Magnus. Last week he was massaging my head—”

“Ew.”

“Not _that one._ He was runnin' his fingers through my hair and totally freaked out because he saw a gray one. You’d think he saw a damn spider layin’ eggs up there with how he reacted.”

“Poor Magpie, he’s gotta experience the ‘stages of grief’ for your youthful beauty, Alec. _Oh, it’s tragic really!_ His perfect sexy-boy-toy had a gray hair! He’s probably gonna give you a magical dye-job in your sleep.”

“Alright, alright,” Alec fails to suffocate his smirk. “Forget it. Enough about my marriage. Let’s just focus on _yours_ happening without a hitch and my dark hairs surviving until then. _So remember,_ I handle the vamps alone and you keep your ‘perfect face’ scratch free. You’re here as my _back-up only, Jace_ , I mean it.”

“Oh, c’mon, Alec, this mission is so vanilla I’m tempted to lick one of these trees for flavoring.” I spread my arms like the branches of one the countless tapped maple trees around us. Encased in darkness these bleeding trees are _just slightly_ creepy. Amber syrup leaks down their trunks like a vamp took a bite and walked away. The maple’s sticky innards have bled-out all over the ground. _Great,_ my boots are covered in this vegan-glue and are gonna look like trail-mix when I get home. I can look forward to picking through the debris for a maple leaf souvenir.

Up ahead the forest reveals an old wooden barn. The rickety-structure looks as though it hosted a werewolf mosh-pit. Half the roof is caved in. All of the windows and doors have been boarded up. The barn is large though, and in its heyday I bet it housed dozens of livestock.

“This has to be it,” Alec whispers ‘secret-style’ and his bow and quiver materialize. He draws an arrow and gestures toward the closest tree. “Stay here, Jace. I’m gonna sweep the perimeter. If it looks secure I’ll head in.”

I start to lean against the tree but think better of it. My jacket doesn’t need to collect woodland souvenirs too. “Okay, go get ‘em, paraba-tiger! Your hubby is gonna swoon when I tell him of your valiant efforts to reclaim his stolen treasure.”

Cue eye-roll .. . _yep_ , Alec never disappoints. In lieu of a goodbye wave Alec flips me his middle finger once more. And then my saucy parabatai melts into the barn’s shadow as though he were a shadow himself.

Our target bloodsucker stole a priceless artifact from Magnus. Alec says it’s an ancient greek vase. _Yes, a vase_. I guess it has a naked greek dude painted on it; probably one of Magnus’ ex-lovers.

For reasons unknown the vamp hi-tailed it north with the vase and Team Parabatai are here to save the day . . . _er_ . . . the x-rated pottery.

Magnus magic-tracked his vase to this general area. Apparently he has an inside source on the Down World’s antique blackmarket (yes, that is a thing). His intel reported that the vamp was making his way to Canada, but was said to be holed-up in an abandoned barn. The thief is reported to have a small band of vamp counterparts with him; the estimation was five or six. Yawn alert. Alec could have handled this on his own (and probably blindfolded), but with my wedding in two days and then a honeymoon to follow . . . well, I offered to tag along for one last single-man-manhunt-hurrah. Hell, the only thing I’ll be hunting for over the next two weeks will be beer refills in Aruba.

Magnus-the-wedding-planner is swamped putting his sparkly-final touches our big day, otherwise he would have pursued the thief himself. And, of course ever-dutiful Alec never passes up the opportunity to be a hero for his husband (and evade looking at different shades of pearl napkins). Hence Alec volunteered to retrieve the vase. Daddy Maggy told us to call him when we’re done and he’ll come and get us.

Talk about a boring, cushy hunt.

Well . . . boring, cushy and _the best_ hunt.

I’m with Alec after all. My best moments are always with him. Seeing my favorite smile makes me smile. Hearing Alec’s voice relaxes me, even when he’s being an ass. Hell, just breathing the same air as Alec makes my entire body calmer and stronger. Our relationship isn’t one of romantic attraction. Yes, he still finds me hot, and I’m secure enough with my manhood to admit he’s hot. But our attraction — our need for one another — is on cellular and spiritual level. A level that is incomprehensible to anyone who is not us. Do I ‘love’ my parabatai? Fuck yes, I love him. Somehow I love Alec more and more every single day. But my feelings for Alec transcend mere friendship and love. Those are just words. Hell, I’m struggling right now to sort it out in my own head. My body _needs_ his presence like oxygen, _no,_ it’s more than that. I can hold my breath and still retain focus and function, but when Alec is absent I.. . _I can’t_. I’m nothing. A Shadowhunter reduced to a shadow.

I get that my dependency on Alec is creepy, unhealthy and stalker-ish to everyone except Alec himself. Thankfully the ‘parabatai addiction’ is very mutual. And — as I’m alone under the moonlight feeling reflective — I know that the honeymoon is going to be . . . ‘ _challenging’_ for me. Challenging like trying to arm-wrestle god with my pinky. I’ll be drinking and fucking. _A lot._ I can distract my physical body to a degree, it’s my soul that can’t get drunk or laid. Alec and I have never gone two whole weeks apart from one another before. But, if I’m feeling ‘clingy’ — a nice word for ‘like I’m going to die’— I can always get a portal home early. Though, I think Clary will shove her entire paintbrush collection up my ass if I do.

My future-wife ‘gets’ our parabatai bond and . . . she doesn’t. Like Magnus, Clary has simply accepted that my parabatai will always be my _everything,_ and everyone else is simply _everything else_.

_Maybe Alec wants to go to Aruba too? He could use a tan . . ._

_Yeah, Jace, and you’ll be divorced in two weeks if you ask him._

Clary will cram her charcoal pencils up my rectum and use paint as the lube. I’ll be shitting modern art for months.

I rub my hands together as though the friction can rub away my sentimental brooding. Well, that and I’m chilly. Springtime in Vermont is a lot cooler than springtime in New York City. Oh well, we’ll probably be heading back home in a few minutes. ‘Light-speed Lightwood’ must be close to snagging that vase by now. Hmmm, it’s well-past dinner time . . . maybe Alec wants to grab a pizza —

_!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

Adrenaline ambushes me! A flaming-sucker-punch igniting my bloodstream and urging me into action! But it’s not _my_ adrenaline rush I’m experiencing, it’s Alec’s. My parabatai rune beats like the wings of a drowning bird, the frantic pulses matching Alec’s heartbeat.

My legs are compelled to run! My lungs are fire! My soul reaches for Alec to save us both from damnation!

I have to find him!

I have to save him!

I have to _save us!_

I’m at the boarded-up barn door. I draw my seraph blade and hack the wooden-fucker to bits lumberjack-style!

Half the roof is missing but the scraps that remain are a visual cock-block for moonlight. I can hear commotion — grunting, gagging— but I can’t pinpoint which direction to head. I pull out my stele and draw the rune of Nyx on my arm. My vision heightens and I can see the busted barn’s interior.

“Shit!” My feet are already catapulting me forward. “Alec!”

My parabatai is on his on his back, ground-fighting with a vampire built like a linebacker. But this linebacker-sized-bloodsucker isn’t the only barn squatter . . . there are at least . . . I look up . . . _oh fuck . . ._

Magnus’ source said there would only be five or six, but I’m seeing _at least_ fifty or sixty undead. The corpses crawl over the walls like ants swarming a gingerbread house. The vampires notice me, of course, and start hissing — _fuck—_ I’m about to go deaf via snake-pit acoustics! But I don’t dare drop my blade to shield my eardrums. 

The vampire wrestling Alec has gained the upper-hand, he’s maneuvered him into a chokehold and his fangs are bared.

_My parabatai is no vamp’s nightcap!_

“Eat this!” I thrust my blade into his nasty-sharp-toothed maw. The monster implodes — dusty, bloody confetti decorating Alec and the floor.

The barn falls silent as a graveyard.

“Ambush-ed me-e,” Alec pants, but wastes no time regaining his footing and weapons.

“We need to go,” I grab his wrist and yank him with me toward the exit. I’m cocky, but not stupid. “We can’t take this many on our own.”

The roar of hissing revives and I know Alec and I are both cursing, we just can’t hear each other.

“We might not have a choice,” Alec shouts over the insanity-inducing sounds.

Is it raining snakes?! _It’s so loud!_

 _Oh shit . . ._ it’s raining alright, and I only wish it was a serpent downpour. Vampire after vampire after vampire after vampire lands on the flooring, splintering the antiquated wood beneath their weight. The monsters are dropping like undead flies — flies that are bigger, faster, and stronger than us, _oh and_ famished for our blood.

Alec’s back presses against mine, pressing reassurance into our bond. We inhale, we exhale, our breathing and heartbeats naturally align. Our parabatai runes blaze like embers beneath our shirts; the heat heightens our instincts and sharpens our reflexes. Then, a force strong enough to fuck over gravity, demands that we protect one another with our lives.

Alec lets loose a barrage of arrows; his own activated Nyx rune ensures that is aim will be spot on. At least three vampires are blasted to bits. I’m not gonna let him out-bodycount me, so I propel forward and impale a vamp to the right, then hack off a forearm to my left. My boot kicks one beast away as my hand jerks another forward and into my blade. Alec and I maintain our practiced battle position the entire time; moving as one honed — extremely handsome — hunting force.

Though we’re totally surrounded — two frantically flapping birds in a sea of sharks — we’remaking headway toward the exit. Plus, _c’mon,_ we’re birds with sharp-ass beaks.

The moon teases me . . .rolling out a carpet of safety light. If we can just make it outside we can run, find cover, power-up with runes, _survive!_

We are so close to the door, maybe fifteen more steps . . .

I think a piano has dropped on my head.

My backside is forced to meet the floor, and the floor decides it likes me and fucks me on the spot. _SHIT-DAMN-FUCK!_ The floorboards splinter like an imploding porcupine, stabbing the shit out of my legs and ass.

It isn’t a piano. It’s a huge-hulkuva-vampire. Did someone decide to turn an entire football team into the undead?! This beast and his pot-belly loom over me, and one of his thunder-thighs comes crashing down! I roll outta the way in time to avoid becoming a golden-Jace-pancake. The irony isn’t lost on me that I’d at least have quick access to maple syrup. If it wasn’t so loud in here I’d tell Alec my joke; but I’ll save this witty-ditty up in my ‘Alec-eye-roll-bank’ for later.

Jumbo Dracula invites his ugly twin, Dumbo Dracula, to wedge between me and Alec. Jumbo shoves me toward Dumbo and the power behind the shove is enough to knock the actual breath from my lungs. My legs buckle. My knees are about to join my ass in getting splinter-fucked when a hand grabs my shoulder and hoists me upward. I look north, grinning appreciatively at my —

“FUCK!”

It’s not Alec. Not unless he’s gotten really, really ugly, really, really fast. Jumbo Drac not only has ahold of me, but he raises his sasquatch-sized boot and stomps down on my right foot.

The entire universe shatters around me along with every bone in my foot.

“JACE!” Alec screams as terror and panic double-team him!

I collapse like a ball of crumpled paper and a sickening-parade of fluids marches outta my body. Sweat trudges down my brow, my back, my legs; tears slip from my eyes; sour bile surges from my stomach, scalding my trachea and mouth with a grand _‘F-U’_ on its way. I’m impressed I haven’t pissed myself, but the night is young. My foot could actually _be_ a morbid upside-down parade float now. It’s a sack of flesh filled with blood instead of helium, and attached by raw nerve-endings in lieu of rope.

_Oh shit . . . vision blurring . . . very . . . very bad. . ._

I know Jumbo and Dumbo are leering over me. My instincts warn me that one of them is about to pulverize my face . . . _Clary and her paintbrush are gonna be so pissed . . ._

But Alec has protected me (and his own backside). His arrows hit their marks and the explosion of blood-dust rains down. I open my eyes and all that’s left of Jumbo and Dumbo are Alec’s red-fletching arrows.

Alec grabs me and tosses me into a nearby horse stall like I’m a bag of feed. _Oh great, the stall comes complete with actual horse bones._

I’m on my ass again and Alec’s ass is in my face. He’s standing guard in front of me. Even though I just vomited everything I’ve ever eaten, I can still appreciate that my parabatai does a lot of squats.

Alec is a work of fitness- _and-_ archery-art. He’s firing off arrows in pace with our heartbeats. His speed and accuracy are otherworldly; he must have runed-up before entering the barn. At least one of us did. But no time like the present . . .I reach for my stele. _Shit!_ I don’t have it. It must’ve fell outta my pocket during the Jumbo-Dumbo fight.

“Jace!” Alec calls back; somehow he’s coordinated enough to toss me his stele and not delay his next shot. “You okay? Your face isn’t scratched, is it? Don’t want that paintbrush in my butt.”

“F-face remains perfec-tion, thanks. B-But my foot is bad, Alec. _Really bad_. _Bro-k-e._ ” My words are broken too. I pull up my shirt to draw an iratze rune near my heart; and then hike up my right pant leg to draw another on my shin, as close to the injury as possible. I don’t dare try and remove the boot because my foot might go with it. My skin literally feels like wet dough. That is if the wet dough was being impaled on a spitfire while scorpions devoured it. My foot is going to need professional medical attention; but the rune’s effect dulls the pain and fortifies my flesh so it’s at least like baked dough. I can speak clearly again. “I don't know how I’m gonna walk down the aisle.”

“I’ll carry you.” Alec says, and he fully intends to do just that.

“How emasculating.”

The vampires have paused their assault, probably strategizing on how to avoid Alec’s freakishly-good aim. My parabatai leans against the stall and indulges in oxygen and just being close to me.

“It can be a piggy-back ride.” Alec offers, a smirk riding his lips.

“Acceptable since you'd be the piggy. Just not ‘princess parabatai’ style.”

The vamps are scurrying about again. Alec surveys our stall bunker, it’s going to be our tomb if we don’t move. I can tell he’s weighting the pros and cons of a door dash verses trying to break through the wall.

“Wall.” I vote. “This structure is old as shit. The wall will crack if you hit it hard enough.” I gesture behind us to where slivers of moonlight seep through the wooden cracks.Alec nods, but vamps approach and he's back to throwing big-boy-death-darts.

“I’ll always carry you, parabatai, even when we’re both old, fat and bald.”

 _“Old? Fat? Bald?”_ Each word is a shit-stain on my tongue. “Have you _seen_ your father lately? I think you’re listin’ off _your_ future-self there, buddy. And what makes ya think my legs’ll give out first? You’re older.”

“I’m also faster and smarter. Count Fatula didn’t stomp on my foot, did he?”

I can’t help but laugh, though the act feels like hornets are having an orgy inside my parade-float-dough-foot.

The vamps stop attacking again, but we hear their voices. They _are_ strategizing _. Oh this is bad._

Alec turns, kicking the wall like it’s his training bag and he’s moody. The wood groans, fracturing like thin ice, and so Alec wails on it again. He strikes until he’s successfully shattered the barrier between us and the woods. Alec hauls me to my left foot, the act shakes my right one like a literal bloody martini. For Alec’s sake I choke down a mouth-full-o-puke — it’s about as pleasant as swallowing a hornet who’s pissed to be missing out on the orgy.

My parabatai wraps an arm around me and I lean against him like a tall-dark-and-handsome crutch. We take off running as fast as a two-headed-three-legged Shadowhunter can run. Unfortunately, our pace of travel would fail to impress a sloth. We aren’t hobble-running in any particular direction, just _away_ from Blood Barn.

“Sorry about the-the v-vase.” I pant the apology; nausea threatening to overpower me again. Alec knows that every unavoidable jostle whacks my stomach like a pinata. 

“Forget the vase. I’ve got you. Just breathe, Jace.”

That incessant hissing rumbles from behind us, the vamps are coming! We’re trying to out-limp a raging stormcloud of teeth.

“Alec, leave me. _Please,_ just run away.” Of course my plea garners no reaction from Alec. I already know that my parabatai will never entertain my self-sacrificing words. He would sooner rip out his own heart for Jumbo and Dumbo to play football with in hell.

Alec inhales deeply, like he’s about to sprint up a mountain, but it’s a conclusive breath. He’s made a tactical decision. My parabatai lowers me down beside the trunk of a large maple. I’m able to scramble to my knees and I reach for my blade — _oh, damn-it-all-to-hell . . .it’s still inside the barn with my own stele!_

I don’t need to ask, Alec tosses me his own seraph blade and I toss him back his own stele. Alec has time to activate his stamina and strength runes, and then, even _time_ runs for its life.

Alec takes aim with his bow. “Jace, I’m gonna take out as many as possible. You call Magnus. He can track my exact location and bail us out.”

 _Angel’s mercy,_ thankfully I still have my phone!

I call Magnus.

It doesn’t even ring . . .

‘ _Please leave a message after the tone.’_

_. . . right to voicemail._

“Alec, it . . . went to . . . voicemail.” The words lodge in my throat like I swallowed dirt. Alec doesn’t flinch, at least not outwardly, he begins releasing arrow after arrow after arrow. My parabatai’s efforts are like throwing twigs into a tidal wave, he can’t stop the vampires from coming.

“Call him again.”

I do.

I’ve choked down the dirt, this word I shout: “Voicemail!”

“What?!” Now Alec’s alarm causes our rune to sear like a sunburn. “He-he said he would be _waiting for my_ . . . just try again. Call him again! He’ll come!”

I call Magnus again.

I call him three times.

Then I call Clary. _Voicemail._ I try Izzy. _Voicemail._ Out of desperation I scroll through for Simon’s number, but. . . I don’t get to push ‘call’.

The typhoon of teeth hits us like a battering ram. There is no long-term defense for us. There are more vampires than there are leaves on this maple tree.

A vampire plows into me; she knocks away my phone so I knock out her fangs and stab her into ash.

Alec intercepts my next would-be-assaulter and yells to me: “Get behind the tree, Jace! Keep calling Magnus!”

 _Dammit!_ My phone was crushed by the plowing-vamp and I have no long-range weapon. I feel like a helpless shit! I can’t fuckin’ stand up! All I can do is lean against the trunk and watch my parabatai protect me.

Alec is a bad ass. He’s holding his ground against impossible odds. He frees each arrow with conviction; knowing every hit grants us _one moment more, here, alive, together._ When a vampire overwhelms him, knocking the bow from his hands, Alec gets back up and he fights with twin daggers. Vampire bodies are bursting around him like he’s in a minefield. He slashes until his daggers are wrestled from him. So then he punches. He kicks. He headbutts. He fucking bites one of ‘em. He no longer has an angelic weapon, his rune energy is running thin, and his mortal attacks can’t match pace with the immortals. He knows he’s going to lose, yet he doesn’t give up. Under the moonlight Alec is a blur of black leather and savage blows. A true Shadowhunter. I’m proud of him. My parabatai. My light. _My everything._

I can feel that Alec’s limbs are spent. He’s standing on raw determination. He doesn’t want me to see him fall. _Not like this._ But the swarm overwhelms him like an avalanche. A hulk-of-a-vamp punches Alec square in his chest; his ribs crack like thunder and, just like that, my parabatai is down. Clawing hands are everywhere; sticking into Alec like thorns until I can barely see him at all within the mass of limbs.

_My turn._

The vampires rush me. I may be on my knees, but I’m not a pussy. I cut through legs, arms and throats like a butcher gone mad! I’m a one-man-massacre until one vamp gets lucky. I’m disarmed. Rough hands seize me, I try to fight them off, but it’s like drowning and punching at the ocean waves. Alec is cursing and hurling threats, but his words are as effective as drowning and cursing and threatening the ocean waves.

I’m dragged several feet forward and then my knees collide with the moist ground. I’m either in a puddle of tree syrup or Alec’s blood. The sticky wetness bleeds through my pants and warms my knees. I’m not a botanist, but I don’t think tree syrup runs hot.

There are at least three vampires holding me on my knees. I’m secured by my wrists, ankles, and someone is bear-hugging me. Extreme overkill as I’m not strong enough to shove away even one. My foot is so beyond fucked, every bone has been crushed to powder. The swelling has exceeded the available space in my boot. Though my foot is useless the nerve-endings are stripped like live-wires. Every time I struggle against my captors my own nervous system punishes me. I feel like I’ve just slammed jugs of vodka and bleach . . .I’m so dizzy, like my head is at the mercy of some invisible puppeteer who keeps jerking my chin up and down.

Alec flaunts his curse-word vocabulary as he’s forced onto his knees. He’s not struggling because he physically can’t. His fractured ribs have disabled him like my foot has me. He’s right in front of me. We are facing each other; close enough to reach out and hug if our arms weren’t held behind our backs. Our sights connect like powerful magnets, interlocking just like our souls.

Like me my parabatai is being excessively restrained by three vampires. One is behind him securing both of his ankles to the ground; one has her arms wrapped around his torso to restrict his own; and another has her fist in his hair. No one has their fist in my hair though. I’m not sure what their reason is for that . . .

. . . until I am.

A fourth vampire approaches. He has a lithe build and a youthful, handsome face, for a monster anyway. His skin is paler than the moon and his hair is darker and longer than Alec’s. Unlike the others, who are wearing rags, this vampire is wearing . . . is that a . . . _toga?_ Who-the-fuck wears a toga, let alone in northern Vermont? This vampire moves like a stormcloud; and he’s decided to hover over Alec. He lays an oddly tender hand on my parabatai’s shoulder and then he grips. _Hard._ He squeezes Alec’s bicep like the very muscle has wronged him. Alec grits his teeth, too stubborn to scream.

The vamp smiles as though Alec has made him proud. But, apparently, vampires eat what they’re proud of because the monster raises his lips revealing long fangs. The fangs glisten as though freshly polished for dining at Chez Shadowhunter.

I’ve seen vampires feed enough times to know what’s about to happen. I prepare my mind and my body for Alec to receive a mega-dose of Yin Fen. I’m praying to the angel that these vamps are only going to snack on us. If they wanted us dead I think we’d already be dead.

The female vampire uses Alec’s hair like a handlebar and jerks his neck sideways even more, therefore providing clear access to his jugular vein. For a vampire: nephilim blood direct from the jugular is like drinking the fanciest wine from the holy grail and the rim’s been laced with ecstasy. For some vamps sucking nephilim is even better than fucking. Simon calls it a vampire’s ‘bloody wet-dream’.

The toga-vampire raises a handkerchief and proceeds to clean all the sweat, blood and dirt from Alec’s neck. _What the fuck? He’s fussy about the cleanliness of his flesh plate?!_

I open my mouth to curse at him! Delay him! Divert him! Insult him! Piss him off so he takes a bite outta me instead! But my parabatai knows this and distracts me first.

“Jace! Look at me!” I do and Alec rewards me by smiling my favorite smile in the whole world. Even with his head forced sideways and dirt smeared over his lips, that smile is fucking gorgeous. “Your face is my favorite face, Jace. You’re perfect. _You’re so perfect_. The wedding photos, they’ll be great, okay?” Alec’s flattery has ambushed me. One of these vamps must be panting hot air onto my face— _oh yea, they don’t breathe,_ so . . . I’m blushing. Snowmen blush easier than I do, so it must be the wooziness getting to me.

“Magnus?” Alec asks the question even though he already knows the answer, so I say nothing. “He’ll come. He will.” My parabatai’s delivery is confident, but his soul can’t lie to mine.

The toga-clad vampire hands the handkerchief to one of his underlings, and then his long, ivory fingers find Alec’s biceps again. He grips my parabatai like the steering-wheel to a car careening off a cliff.

My turn to distract Alec: “Your ‘favorite face’ is right here, parabatai. Just indulge. _Don’t look away from me._ Magnus’ll be here any moment.” My delivery is confident, but my soul can’t lie to his.

The vampire looks at me now, his eyes are bloodshot, and he actually smirks. _Fuck,_ he knows he’s about to sink his fangs into my heart.

My brave parabatai braces himself for the bite. I sense his muscles contracting like he’s preparing to take a punch. Alec doesn’t close his eyes, he doesn’t beg or plead, he shows no outward signs of weakness. I know his bold facade is all for my sake. But I can feel panic cover him like an airtight sack. 

I inhale and exhale very slowly; reaching through our bond and trying to steady and slow his lungs. But it’s not just phycological panic I’m combating . . . _shit_ . . . at least one of his ribs has punctured a lung. I can sense it _and_ I can hear it as Alec's breathing becomes more labored. I have to convince these vampires to free us immediately. Alec needs an iratze and medic. And he needs them soon.

Alec’s eyes hold me the way his arms wish they could. If I could breathe for him, I would! If I could rip out my own lungs and shove them inside him, I would!

“Please, listen to me,” I channel my inner-Alec and use the calmest, most diplomatic tone I can. “My friend is injured very badly. If you want to feed, feed on me. I won’t resist. But let him go. We are Shadowhunters from the New York Institute and you don’t want to accidentally kill him. If you do you’ll have every Shadowhunter in North America after you.”

The vampire ignores me and his mouth crashes upon Alec like a two-pronged axe. Alec lets out the most desperate, helpless little cry I’ve ever heard him make.

The vampire is fixed to my parabatai like demonic-tick. He digs his fingers into Alec’s shoulders and has his way with his throat. The feeding is an immediate frenzy. The vampire has probably never tasted nephilim before.

Alec blinks and releases a stream of tears. I can feel his senses dulling as the Yin Fen begins to dilute his senses. He’s aware that he’s being fed on; he’s terrified; he’s frustrated that he can’t save me, but . . .his eyes begin to change. Those brown orbs fade from alert to tired. His overpowering determination begins to weaken. It’s a sort of twisted mercy for him, but not for me.

It only takes seconds for the Yin Fen to fully saturate Alec's bloodstream. The rapture wraps him like a death shroud. I’ve watched Alec fall asleep countless times over our lives. I remind myself that sleep is happening now. _Alec is just falling asleep._ That's it. The vampire wants to feed, and when he’s full he’ll let Alec go. He’ll be banged-up, need a transfusion, but he’ll be okay.

I watch as Alec flinches against it — an anesthetized insect in the spider’s web — but the pull to close his eyes is stronger than a blackhole.

Even within his Yin Fen haze Alec looks at me. Our bond is his lighthouse. He’s petrified to look away, if he does, he may loose sight of our light, of me . . . forever. I can’t look away either. My sight will not abandon my parabatai. 

Alec opens his mouth and I know he _wants to call for me_ , but his body simply can’t. He wants to die in my arms, but my eyes will have to do.

“. . . s . . .s-sor-ry . . .”

Alec has been reduced to a fucking mouse.

I can barely hear him! His fractured, pathetic word enrages me!

_NO!_

Alec’s lingering emotions beat our souls bloody. He hates himself for being unable to _save me._ He’s pleading for _my forgiveness_ , he’s sorry, _so so sorry_ that . . . that he’s about to . . . about to . . .

_Leave me._

“ALEC! ALEC, NO!”

Blood black as tea gushes down Alec's neck, torso and legs. His blood is gushing faster than the vampire can drink it. The three vampires restraining him lap up the excess as it slides south! It’s like Alec is just some life-sized bloody popsicle!

The pulsating of my parabatai rune fades from frenetic to faint. The drowning bird’s wings are tired.

A gong of truth bangs within my skull.

I’m not watching a _feeding_ , this is a _killing_.

The vampire never intended to stop.

_No, no, nonononononooooo! This isn’t happening!_

I need to focus. I need to activate my runes.

_C’mon, pure-angel-blood-golden-eyes-glowing-kick-ass-Jace! Come the fuck out! PLEASE! Why does Clary have to be around for this to work?! Why can’t I activate my runes now?! NOW when power is needed more than EVER before?!_

_I NEED TO SAVE ALEC!_

My angelic power relies on Clary to surge; but my body, heart and soul need Alec in order to survive.

_I can’t live without him._

Despite wanting and wishing and pleading and praying for my runes to aid me they just . . . don’t.

Without a stele my runes are as useless as mundane tattoos.

I can’t save Alec.

“No! No! Please! Please drink me! _KILL ME!_ Alec! Alec! You can’t leave me!” I scream! I buck! I struggle against the vampires holding me! My efforts are pathetic and only further destroy my right foot.

_My parabatai can’t die like this . . . on his knees in the dirt, helpless . . . he can’t die like this, he can’t die at all!_

_“_ Alec! Alec! ALEC!”

His facial muscles and shoulders relax now. He’s stopped fighting. I know he hears my cries, but they are so distant for him. I’m like the ghost he’s becoming. The color of his skin has changed, he looks ashen, like he hasn’t seen the sun in years. Alec’s lashes start to flutter, he’s still gazing toward me, but I don’t know if he even sees me anymore.

The underling vampires release Alec. Toga-vampire easily holds him on his own. Alec’s own puppeteer has cut the strings supporting his limbs and his arms swing forward and slump to his sides. His body is twitching strangely, ever-so-slightly, like he’s short-circuiting.

And now my bodily fluids don’t just march outta me, _they FUCKING RUN!_ Fluids flee my body like the devil is chasing them out! Sweat, tears, vomit, _and yes_ , this time I do piss myself.

_THE PAIN!_

All of my internal organs must be combusting at once! The devil has punched his fist directly through my parabatai rune! His boiling fingers have greedily seized ahold of my innards and yanked them, disemboweling me, spilling my organs like worthless coins.

But the devil isn’t satisfied with my mortal bits, he wants my soul too. And those hellfire-claws take what they want. The devil exercises a scream from my lungs that will deafen every angel on high. Then he rips out my lungs too. But my heart and brain, _nah,_ he leaves those. He leaves my heart a tattered, mangled mass of meat like my foot. And he arranges my brain so that all of my memories from tonight are positioned at the forefront, chained there forever.

I long for the mercy of an agony rune. My eyelids are smoldering anvils, I blink to relieve the boiling tears, but when I re-open them I don’t see Alec behind his eyes anymore. His pupils have dilated, expanding like spilled ink on pearl-colored napkins.

I’ve seen countless lifeless eyes over my short lifetime. It’s like god has simply unplugged the brain, halted all electricity and caused a permanent power-outage. I hate seeing lifeless eyes, but they are unavoidable for a Shadowhunter. I’ve become accustomed to seeing them _not_ _seeing me_.

Until now.

Seeing Alec’s light go dark . . . feeling him go dark within me . . . I want to go dark too . . . _please, angel, devil_ . . . someone, anyone, just end me . . . why aren’t they killing me too . . . just let me stay with my Alec . . . _where thou diest, I will die_ . . . please let me follow him, let me follow _my light_ . . . please . . .

The light of my life has gone out.

My favorite smile in the whole world is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

(Alec)

Not only was I murdered, but I was murdered in front of my parabatai; turned into a vampire, kidnaped; _oh_ , and then sire-bonded _to my own murderer_ for all of eternity. Not at all how I saw that mission going.

I want to scream, but there are two reasons why I don’t. First: dead lungs. In preparation _to_ scream my reflex is to inhale and then exhale my upset, but my lungs are sitting in my chest like stones. They won’t inflate and the sensation is maddening. Second: my murderer is expecting me to lose it. He’s waiting for me to scream, cry, beg and fall into hysteria like every other person he’s murdered and changed. But I’m not like every other person. I wasn’t when I could breathe and being unable to breathe hasn’t changed that.

My murderer is seated across from me in a posh lavender armchair. I’m seated in an identical chair a few feet away; only I’m handcuffed to mine. My murderer is sipping blood from a champagne flute and ogling me like I'm the winning ticket for the 'Downworlder’s lottery'. 

I feign disinterest in my captor and examine my wrist restraint. This is a first-rate handcuff. I’ve yanked on it with all of my vampire strength and it won’t crack. Neither does my murderer. I’ve demanded to see Jace nonstop (since I’ve been coherent enough to form words), and yet my captor is as unyielding as the solid marble walls around us.

Memories of my first undead hours are about as clear as blood. I crawled out of my grave and into a cataclysmic-gore-feeding frenzy. My murderer handcuffed me to his own wrist and poured bag after bag of blood down my throat. At the time the thirst possessed me like a demon. I wasn’t in control of my own body or urges. For the first time _ever_ I needed something more than Jace.

Blood. I just _needed_ blood.

The need to drink was a survival instinct — like paddling your limbs while drowning —every dead cell in my body yearned for it! It was like I’d been buried for a thousand years — starving! Thirsty! My mouth was full of sand and so dry it could have caught fire! Only the blood could sate me, quench me, cool my lips so they wouldn't burn!

I didn’t give a shit that I was _drinking people._ My captor could've drained my entire family into those bags and I would've been powerless to stop gulping them down. I drank until my binge knocked me out like an alcoholic bender. And then I woke up here: barefoot; dressed in a white toga; cuffed to this chair, _annnnddddd_ with my murderer staring at me like I’m an egg ready to hatch. He’s barely left me alone since.

I have no idea how long I’ve been in here. This room is windowless like a tomb. That is if Magnus has been decorating tombs in his spare time. This solid marble enclosure is so extravagantly decorated it reminds me of his old loft back in Brooklyn. My murderer must have robbed the actual parthenon. I’m surrounded by ancient greek statues, paintings, weapons, tile mosaics and pottery. I wonder if one of these many vases is the one I died for? And if he _did_ actually rob _the parthenon,_ then this bastard has to be old. _Extremely old_. Older than Magnus. And yet he looks younger than Magnus. He even looks younger than me. He would get I.D.’d at every mundane bar. His eyes alone betray his youth. Those orbs are silver like coins and belong to a man whose probably witnessed the invention _of the_ coin. He has certainly seen history unfold before him.

I would lick a public toilet seat before I’d admit this out loud, but the piece of shit doesn’t look like shit. My murderer’s hair is longer, darker, curlier and shiner than Izzy’s. The strands are tied into a knot high on his head and a few ringlets have strayed, teasing his jawline right where I’d like to punch him. He has the look of some teenie-bopper boyband member whose secretly a serial killer. His face has _that thing_ about it that Jace and Magnus have too . . . he’s masculine, but in a pretty sort of way. Because my murderer is wearing a toga not much of his body is left to the imagination. He’s muscled, lean and tall; though I’ve got a few inches of height on him. _And_ his toga reveals that I’ve got length on him in another area too.

“I want to see my parabatai now.” I repeat my request for the millionth time since I’ve been entombed. I’m mindful to keep my voice calm, like I’m requesting the meal check at a diner.

My murderer sighs with blatant irritation. He’s mastered the ability to inhale and exhale in order to blend in with mundanes, a skill that seasoned vampires can hone.

“Oh, Alexander, if I only had a euro for every time you’ve said that.” His greek accent is thick and —if he hadn’t killed me — I might actually enjoy the sound of his voice. But obviously he’s an asshole of epic proportions. He can flank the topic all he wants, but he’d have flay my lips to stop me from asking for Jace.

I don’t know if my parabatai has been murdered as I have, or if he’s in the next tomb serving as a nephilim vending machine. I can still _sense_ Jace somehow but our connection is faint, like trying to feel a braille message through thick kevlar gloves. I can’t read Jace’s emotional state at all, I just know it still exists. Our bond goes far deeper than the physical sear of our runes, and the end of my mortal life hasn’t ended _us_. . . at least not yet. I’m relieved by this but not entirely surprised. It’s going to take a force stronger than death to break me and Jace. But our bond has been battered and weakened like a vein needled too many times, it could wither away at any moment, and I pray to the _ange— . . ._ the _ange_ — _wow, okay_ , I knew I wouldn’t be able to say it, but apparently I can’t even think the word. _So:_ I pray to the feathery-winged folk that our bond can be somehow rejuvenated. I realize I’m asking for a miracle, but I’m not even asking for my life back, I just don’t want to lose my bond with Jace. The universe has pretty much fucked me in the ass with barbed spikes drenched in tabasco sauce so . . .it owes me.

Ultimately I need to focus on solving my own murder — figure out what this prick’s motive was — but until I know how Jace has fared my detective skills are as useless as my lungs. My parabatai always topped my ‘priority totem pole’ when I could breathe and being unable to breathe hasn’t changed that either. Well, at least when I’m not consumed by bloodlust anyway. For now my hunger has been alleviated and I’m in control again.

“My parabatai.” I re-state with a dash of dick salt. “Where is he? I want to see him. Did you kidnap him?”

My murderer throws up his hands like I’ve got him at silver-bullet-gunpoint. _Don’t I wish._

“ _Fine, Alexander._ I’ll conceded and tell you about your parabatai’s fate. Anything to unplug your broken-record of a yap, boy!” He parades his ability to sigh again. “ _Okay then, so_ I never harmed a hair on your parabatai’s golden head. I left him unbitten and right where he passed out on that hillbilly farm. _Now, please,_ may you not speak of him again. You’re giving me the headache of the century! Quite literally!”

“Prove it then.” Hope for Jace’s well-being rises within me but I shove it from my expression.“Prove to me that my parabatai is unharmed.”

“By the gods! You’re obsessed with him. It’s quite creepy, actually. _You are a new vampire, Alexander!_ You should only be obsessed with blood. So how about it?” My murderer sets his blood-filled flute on the table between us. The flute is more than an arms-length away and I can resist it as long as I can’t smell it. Since I can’t figure out how to inhale and sniff I think I’m okay. I don’t want to fall into _another_ frenzy and blackout. I must remain vigilant and figure out where I am in relation to where Jace is. Assuming my murderer is telling me the truth, that means Jace would have been rescued; is safe; and has returned to The Institute by now. But why would I be drained of my life and Jace be spared? There were dozens of hungry vampires in those woods, so how would Jace and his ‘grade A’ nephilim blood remain unsampled?

“Listen,” I say, and my captor gestures for me to proceed, “if I had to choose between seeing my parabatai for one second or getting my mortal life back forever, hands-down I’d pick him—”

Since he cut off my life I shouldn’t be surprised that he cuts off my words. “Wow, you are pathetic—”

So I cut off his: “You need to prove that you’re telling me the truth. I have to know that my parabatai is safe, otherwise I’ll never stop asking for him.”

“I can always burn off your mouth. Though that would be a pity. Quite difficult to suck blood and cock without it, eh?” My captor chides, raising a dark eyebrow.

I look at him as though he were a pile of dog shit full of worms. Actually that comparison honors him. He’s the worms’ shit in the dog’s shit, which is just straight-up shit on shit. “I have to see my parabatai. I can barely feel him anymore.”

My murderer looks at me as though I ate the pile of dog shit full of worms and worm shit. “Actually, Alexander, you can’t feel him at all. _You died._ Your bond was severed. What you are feeing is a ‘ghost bond’. Similar to what an amputee feels after the loss of a limb. You think you can feel your parabatai, but you can’t. You’ve only been dead for three days and the sensation will fade over time.”

Three days!? It’s only been three days?! That means I might not have been given up for dead yet, well, at least not undead. Jace’s parabatai rune will be gone, but he’ll be able to sense that I exist. There’s no ‘ghost bond’. _No. No way._ I can’t believe that. There . . . _there can’t be!_

But threedays means that Jace and Clary already got married. I missed the wedding. Assuming they even had it in light of my death and, of course, his foot was wrecked and, _oh no . ._ . I promised to carry him down the aisle. I hope they didn’t cancel just because I died. I busted my ass to keep his perfect face perfect for those wedding photos. Wedding or no wedding everyone should at least suspect I’ve been turned into a vampire. And Magnus, Izzy and Jace will never stop looking for me and they’ll rescue . . . _shit._ I’m a Downworlder like Luke and Simon _. Shit. Shit. Shit._ What will this mean for my family? For Magnus? For—

“Hey there! Prosochí! Vlákas!” My murderer blares something in greek and it’s literally greek to me. He snaps his fingers like he’s a hypnotist breaking a trace. “Stop daydreaming about your stud-of-a-parabatai and pay attention to me! Alexander, your new bond and loyalty are to me, Deo of Crete. Your sire. So just drink the blood already, you stubborn twat.”

My murderer, who has now identified himself as ‘Deo’, slides the champagne flute across the table so it’s inches from me. Even though I’m not actively sniffing, the bloody essence wafts upward and commanders my senses. The raw scent brings me back to being a teenager; affecting me like Jace — that sinful combination of his aftershave and pheromones. I just want to lean in and inhale it all (if I could). The aroma is so thick and sexy and stimulating and delicious — I can almost taste it! I want to lose myself within the scent like younger me always wanted to loose myself within Jace. I’d willingly asphyxiate within it if such a fate were possible.

My hand hovers over the glass and Deo smiles.

I smile too.

And then my undeadly-strong pointer finger flicks the flute clear across the chamber. It shatters against the wall, staining marble and a hoity-toity golden rug all red. That stain’s gonna be a bitch to get out. 

Deo cocks an eyebrow. “You might be stubborn as an oxen but you don’t have to act like a jackass, Alexander. You are very far away from your parabatai and your childish temper tantrum is not going to magically bridge the distance.”

 _Far away?_ _How far way am I?_ I close my eyes, trying to concentrate on the sounds beyond the marble walls. My vampire body is not only mega-powerful, but all of my senses are enhanced. I can hear like a bat. I can tell that this tomb is subterranean. I can actually hear the worms burrowing (and probably shitting) in the soil around us; and I can also hear waves. Am I still on the East Coast? Is this the Atlantic?

“You know,” Deo begins, taping his chin like a puzzling mundane. “Though quite rude, you are indeed calmer than the average newbie vamp.”

“Well, I’m not just some mundane who doesn’t know what’s happening to him. I’m a Shadowhunter.”

“You _were_ a Shadowhunter. Now you’re _my_ vampire. All of your runes are gone, including your parabatai rune. I’ll allot you one more minute to mourn your old mortal life.” Deo lifts his arm and points to an expensive looking wristwatch. “So go on then, sulk and curse the universe for the injustice of it all! But then suck it up — literally — and drink blood. I’ll fetch you a fresh glass. Maybe I’ll put it in one of those spill-proof baby cups, yeah?”

For a moment I’m thankful that my cheeks can’t flush red. “I don’t want anything from you, murderer. You killed me.”

Deo has clearly been called a 'murderer' as frequently as Magnus has been called 'fabulous'. He shrugs off the accusation with the nonchalance of an ugly sweater. “ _Bah,_ óchi, óchi. I liberated you from the constraints of an aging and decaying body.”

“I’m twenty-six!” My dead lungs somehow produce air enough for me to yell.

“Twenty-six becomes twenty-seven, becomes thirty, becomes seventy. Old is _EW.”_ Deo makes a face like he’s smelled a rotten fish. “Now you will remain this youthful, physical perfection forever. Parakaló, tipota.”

“Where is my parabatai?"

Deo bolts upright like the tomb’s fire alarm is blaring! Both of his hands spread as though my words have crucified him to thin air! “By Zeus, are we back on this? _Parabatai, parabatai, parabatai!_ I’ll admit it’s fun to say, and even charming to hear in your American accent, but come now! Why do you continue to ask for Jace? _Yes, I am going to use his name from now on, I need a change from ‘parabatai’!_ Why Jace? Is it because he is your ‘ _favorite face’_? HA! What of your husband? Why not ask for Magnus instead? Is his face at least ranked second? Well, probably third now that you've met me, yeah?”

Jace’s name, and my final words to him, are thrown at me like rusty hooks. These hooks gut me on the spot. The fact that Deo was entertained by our final moments together sickens me more than my undead flesh.

I pry the invisible hooks from my belly and hurl them back at Deo: “Because I know Magnus is fine. My husband is strong with or without me. He can live without me. Jace can’t! And you made Jace watch me die. You can’t even comprehend what that will do to him!” My words cause Deo to squint, just slightly, like an invisible beam of sunlight has grazed his eyes. “Where am I?” I press his nerves harder. “Coney Island? The Jersey shore?”

Deo’s hands go from crucified to mock-crying; he laughs into them like he’s a drunkard who’s heard his all-time favorite joke!

“The Jersey shore?! Oh my dear, dear, beautiful and hilarious boy! Ochi, óchi, óchi!” His fingers fall from his face as his body falls back into the plush lavender chair. “After you died I put you on ice and flew you to my homeland. We’re in Greece, Alexander. Not far from Athens. What you hear is the very sea that Odysseus and other greek heroes ventured across centuries ago . . . the mediterranean!”

“I've seen it.” I say bluntly unimpressed (meanwhile panic shits its pants inside my skull). _I’m not even in North America!_ Though I never visited Greece while alive, Magnus did take me to Italy a few times. But I don’t share that personal tid-bit (or the panic-shitting) with my murderer.

“Let me guess, Magnus took you to Italy?”

_How does he . . .?_

_Shit._ My expression definitely says ‘shit’. 

“Oh, join the club! Magnus Bane has taken myself, and countless others, to his villa in Italy too, Alexander. But I assure you the mediterranean is most spectacular from the greek shores! It’s beauty rivals even that of your lovely Jace. You’ll see soon enough though, you foolish-parabatai-obsessed boy.”

“I’m not foolish.” I don’t bother to deny the second part.

“I know you were foolish enough to marry the first person who kissed you. I mean, _who does that_ in the modern world? That’s so 508 BC. Didn’t you want to ‘sew your oats’, _as they say?”_

“No one says that.”

“Play the field?”

“None of your business.”

“I mean, Magnus _is_ a skilled lover, I will give him that credit, but to marry him? _Bah._ Commitment is like those handcuffs you currently find your freedom disabled by.”

I’m thankful for the second time that my skin cannot flush red. My imagination ambushes me with images of Magnus _doing-to-Deo_ the x-rated acts that he _does-to-me_ and . . . _just kill me again_.

I chisel my expression to match the neutral facade of a statue posing in the corner. _I’m fine. It’s fine. Magnus has had seventeen thousand lovers_ , _I can’t avoid them all._ _Everything is fine, just peachy—oh. . . this means that my killing was certainly premeditated then! He’s one of Magnus’ ex’s! He did not kill me by accident!_

If my eyes could hurl sunlight, they would! “So I’m just a revenge killing then?” I accuse in my full-on-no-nonsense-Clave-delegate-tone. “You’re some kind of petty, scored ex-lover? You thought killing me would make Magnus notice you again? Payback for rejecting you?”

Deo laughs as though I’ve told the joke of the century, and he would know. “Hardly.”

“But you murdered me on purpose.”

“I did kill you and turn you into my vampire, yes. And I enjoyed your decadent flavor immensely, I might add. But I am merely the weapon used to end your mortal life, Alexander, not the hand that wielded it. So you see your resentment toward me is actually quite misplaced. I am being the responsible sire for you. I took my beautiful new fledgling under my wing and I am mentoring you through your vampire afterlife. You should consider yourself lucky to have me as your sire. You will not find yourself in more capable hands than mine. I am an _ancient_ , you know. And, besides, you died in a Yin fen haze, hardly a bad way to go.”

 _A Yin Fen haze . . ._ Deo’s words launch my memories — my sanity— into purgatory! The Yin fen’s euphoria was impossible to combat; like trying to plug a volcano with a cork. My strength was incinerated within seconds. Mentally, physiologically . . . I was helpless. And I didn’t even care. It felt _good_ to surrender. I was _so tired_ from fighting. My ribs had taken a battering-ram-punch and I could hear them crunching every time I inhaled. Part of a rib had splintered-off into a lung and the organ was slowly deflating, allowing air to escape into places where it shouldn’t be. It was sort of poetic, I guess, because thoughts and feeling were escaping my brain too.

I thought of Izzy. My sister would never forgive me for dying, but she— more than anyone— would understand why I couldn’t fight back. But Izzy would go on without me. She would be okay.

I thought of Magnus and I failed to squelch a sting of betrayal. _Where was he?_ Why wasn't he saving me? Why didn’t he answer the phone? He said he would be waiting for our call! Was he going to make a classic ‘Bane dramatic entrance’? Or was he actually going to be _too late_ this time? My husband would never forgive himself. But he would go on without me. He would be okay.

Only Jace would never forgive himself. Only Jace would not be okay.

Thoughts of my family and friends wove themselves in and out of my mind, but my consciousness itself was _all Jace_. My consciousness was a quilt wrapped around me, holding my soul inside, and a few tassels were Magnus and a few patches were Izzy, Max, my parents and friends; but Jace was everything. He was always around me, there all the time. My ‘Jace quilt’ brought me constant comfort, _until then,_ when he was smothering me with regret. I had no more control over my regrets and final thoughts than I did my fate. I hated myself —I still hate myself— for failing to protect him. I regretted my weakness. I regretted my stupidity. I regretted my cowardice. And I regretted never trying to kiss him — _even once—_ all those years ago, when kissing him was all I ever thought about. I know that Jace would have shoved me away, probably bloodied my nose too. It would have been awkward, but he would have forgiven me. And then maybe, _just maybe,_ I could have forgiven myself for not at least _trying_. Not at least tasting him for _even just_ half of a heartbeat.

I memorized Jace’s perfect face as I died. Of course I already knew my favorite face by heart, mind, body and soul — hell, I’d recognize him blindfolded and in the dark— but I needed to study him again. Jace was making an unusualexpression and I was fascinated. I can _still_ _see him . . ._ he was breathtaking-utter-devastation-- a bomb detonating in a field of flowers and butterflies and tossing gorgeous petals and wings like confetti. Somehow Jace was even more beautiful broken into nothing. Just a vulnerable, terrified man who loved me more than mortal words were even able to convey. The desperation that consumed him in _that heinous moment_ when we realized that . . . that . . . I wasn’t going to survive . . . that _I_ was killing us both . . .

I’ve never seen his face like that.

I’ve never felt his legendary courage _just disappear._ It was like his bravery was never even there; like it had been a shadow cast all along and only my presence allowed him _to_ cast the shadow at all. Without me there was _just nothing._ Nothing can’t generate a shadow of anything.

Even through the Yin fen the pain was _still_ unbearable for me, so for Jace to _take it raw_ is incomprehensible. Having all of our teeth and nails yanked out; being skinned alive and all while being burned at a stake, _yeah ._ . . that would be more humane then feeling our souls ripped from us through our runes.

I always wished that Jace and I would die together and in each other’s arms. That somehow fate would be kind enough to end us at the _exact same moment,_ and then neither of us would ever have to suffer the loss of the other. What a foolish fantasy.

_I failed us . . . I left him . . . I wasn’t strong enough . . .coward . . . and now I’m a monster . . . I’m not a Shadowhunter. I’m what Jace hunts . . . how did this . . . I . . . I can’t think of it. I can’t relive it! I’m just like Simon now . . . I’m . . ._

_STOP IT, ALEC!_

_BUCK-UP!_

_I'm not Simon, a mundane turned vampire._

_I’ve always been part of the Shadow World._

_C’mon, don’t lose yourself to fledgling-over-emotional hysteria._

_You can’t catastrophize even when it’s a catastrophe._ _Concentrate. Be better than this. Be stronger. Kick your emotions down to the devil who tore up your parabatai rune. Take a deep breat— ha-ha, no, can’t . . . so just do what you do best: investigate._

_Death can take the life out of the Shadowhunter, but never the hunting instinct. I am going to find out why I had to die and why my parabatai had to watch. I am going to figure out WHY this happened now and hate myself later. I’ll have all of eternity to hate myself and if it’s too much, well, I’ll go suntanning._

To my credit Deo has no clue that I just endured a psychotic break and then strung my sanity back together. My killer is simply relaxing in his chair, eyeing me like I’m a piece of art he wants to hang on the wall.

I interrogate my captor: “I know I was a revenge murder. Just admit it: someone hired you to kill me to get back at Magnus for something. That stupid vase was stolen on purpose. It was a lure.”

“Proeidopoíisi! _I_ am on that vase. I made it! It is priceless art. An old fashion ‘selfie’, you could say. And, hey, if you have selective hearing then so do I. Did you not hear me say that I am an ‘ _ancient’_? Are you not even a little bit impressed? Spotting a ‘vampire ancient’ is rarer than an angel sighting, you know.

He can say ange— _damn_. Of course he can.

I glance upward to where the marble wall meets the marble ceiling and there is a slight chip. I point it out. “Your ceiling is chipped.”

“Well, I can see that you’re going to be challenging to impress. I welcome adversity, though. When you have lived as long as I have, _you know being an ancient and all_ , a challenge can be refreshing, just like your nephilim blood was on my tongue. _That’s how I turned you, you know._ I bit my own tongue and let my blood and salvia fester in your wound. Mortal-born vampires can’t make fledglings like that.”

“Your ceiling might leak if it rains.”

Deo flaunts a fangy-smile. “Alexander, _hmm,_ that’s a strong greek name, by the way. _Alexander! Alexander!_ I also like how your name feels upon my tongue. In fact, I think I would like how _other parts_ of you felt on my tongue as well.”

I try to huff, but without the punch of air my irritation is weak. “Yeah, well, that’s not gonna happen. Though I welcome you to c’mere and try. You can share the same fate as your cup of blood.”

Deo rises up with the grace of a gray-scale rainbow and somehow he’s standing just inches from me, though I never saw him move. He cocks his head like a predatory bird and pulls his top-knot of hair loose, Izzy-seduction-style. A waterfall of ink coils spills past his shoulders, contrasting starkly with his fair skin . . . like my runes use to contrast against my skin.

“Let me explain to you how being sire-bonded to an ancient works.” I don't know what being a so-called 'ancient' entails, but Deo moves unlike any vampire I’ve seen. I didn’t even blink and he’s on my other side. I know vampires are fast, but he moves like a ghost with a speed rune. “You, lovely Alexander, can not deny me anything that I ask for. But I prefer not to abuse my abilities, _plus_ it’s just more fun for me to persuade you to do my various biddings willingly. I understand that you are use to mortal-born vampires, as I like to call them, and you are included in this bracket too. Mortal-born vampires have super strength, scent, hearing, speed, yada, yada, yada and they harbor attachment to their sires, but they cannot be physically controlled by them.”

I slouch in my chair, trying to look as though he just told me that two plus two equals four. “And what? You can control me? _Yeah, okay, whatever._ I’m an expert on vampires. I’ve never heard of that.”

“May I please dazzle you with a demonstration?” Deo offers, bowing like he’s a street performer.

“Whatever.”

Deo reaches forward and unclips my handcuffs. He was so freakishly-fast that I have no idea how he freed me but, before I can punch him, he says: “Please stand up, Alexander.”

The request isn’t even out of his lips and I’m on my feet.

_Oh dammit._

If I could sweat, I’d be sweating.

“Why, thank you for standing up, Alexander.” Deo reaches forward like he’s going to touch my face and I'm unable to swat his hand away. My arms are heavy like solid lead pipes. He tucks some of my hair behind my ear and -- _ohhhhhh!!!!!_ A new factoid about vampirism drops on me like a parachuting crate. And that crate is chock-full of caffeine pills, testosterone shots and tubes of that intensifying-naughty-lube that you rub on your genitals to make them scream!

New vampires are not only endowed with heightened sight, taste, scent, speed, strength and hearing . . . it’s touch as well. And _right now_ it’s like every pour on my earlobe can feel every pour on Deo’s finger! Our skin is ice on ice and the freezing burn hurts _so good_ like an ice-cream headache! My entire body shudders, ambushed by a sensory assault! My legs would collapse if my body wasn't compelled to stand!

Deo has perfected the ability to blow air, and he demonstrates the skill on my neck . . . right on my murder site. He might as well have blown on my balls! _Everything_ between my thighs throbs as though my sex organs still have a pulse. _By the ang—dammit!_ My hunk-of-rock heart might actually jump-start if Deo blows on me again. I _really, really_ want him too and I _really, really_ don’t. This flimsy toga won’t hide the other hunk-of-rock.

“ _What’s that, Alexander?_ You’d like to hug me? How sweet! I truly appreciate the gesture of gratitude.”

_No, no, no!_

My arms shoot straight forward like a zombie, limp wrists and all! I grit my teeth so hard I taste enamel! _C’mon, Alec!STOP IT!_ My best effort is absurd, like trying to will back a tornado with thought alone!

My murderer waltzes —he literally dances— into my outstretched arms! I want to spit on him, but my mouth is struggling to generate fluid!

 _NO! Get away!_

Deo lays his head against my chest like I’m his favorite pillow. His cheek nuzzles me, paying homage to the graveyard of my heartbeat. Next he wraps his arms around my torso and my traitorous arms enfold him in return. I’m rubbing his back. My fingers are wanton bastards! They explore the curve of his spine and the grooves of hard muscles around it. I’m thankful for the fabric that separates us, even though one-ply toilet paper is probably thicker.

I hate this vampire! He murdered me! He tortured Jace with my death! He’s using me to make Magnus suffer! I want to curse him! I want to curse my betraying body! But I don’t, I can’t! I can’t give Deo the satisfaction of knowing I’m coming undone! I can’t sweat and I have no heartbeat for him to clue into; as long as he doesn’t brush against my semi-hard-double-crossing cock I’m ‘incognito cool’.

“ _Oh,_ this is nice. You’re _soooo_ tall and muscular.” Deo is drenching his tone in dramatics— like some fangirl hugging her favorite celebrity. “Does the jackass have a tight ass?” Deo condescends and his hands descend — right down my back! He helps himself to two fist-fulls of my ass — squeezing my cheeks like stress balls. The entire universe is about to go nuclear before my eyes! _SHIT!_ He's holding his hips at bay, they aren't against mine, but if he presses toward me -- even a centimeter--he's going to feel IT! I’m going to skewer him with my dick! If only it could actually kill him!

_No, no, no! This is so unfair! I can’t control my arousal! He can’t notice it! I don’t want to be turned-on! I want to be tuned-off, all the way off! My pulmonary and respiratory systems are dead, but my reproductive one is like a raging-horny-phoenix?! WHAT?! WHY?! How is my cock even working?! Demon-blood-magical-torturous-unnatural-bullshit!_

“What’s that, _Alexander_?” Deo coos my name like it’s bloody sugar on his tongue. “Do you want to kiss me?”

_Okay, Lightwood, time to wave the white flag! My flagpole is at full-mast._

“No. No way!” My voice resonates somewhere between calm and calamity. “Stop it, you’ve proven your point.”

My murderer chuckles a self-righteous chuckle. He teethes my nipple through the toga; gives my right ass cheek a firm pinch; then shimmies from my arms like I’m a damn walk-in closet and he’s just dressed to the nines!

“At ease, solider.” Deo says, silver sights flaring, and my body collapses into my chair.

My confused-cock is apparently suck in rigor mortis. I’m back in control of everything but _that,_ so I cross my legs and hope that Deo remains oblivious to my undead biology. I would gasp if I could! My mouth gapes wide enough to eat my own . . . foot. I shake my arms and wrists hard, punishing them for their disloyalty!

Though I’m no longer handcuffed with a physical restraint I know it’s pointless to attack Deo. The cuffs were never even necessary. They were just for show. A game to make me think I _could possibly_ get away. See my friends again . . . my family . . . my husband . . . my Jace.

I’m his vampire puppet.

What in the unholy-shadow-world is he going to make me do? How could Magnus have never told me that a vampire this powerful existed? How could The Clave not have known?

My murderer actually performs a curtsy, like he’s accepting a trophy, and then grins like the trophy was mine and he stole it. Well, he has. My nerve has most certainly been stolen, and I pray to the ang— _dammit!_ I pray to any deity who listens to vampires that this ancient one doesn’t know how severely he’s just disarmed me.

Deo is back in his own armchair. I never saw him sit down. “Oh, relax, kid. I’m many things, but a lecher is not one of them. I would never force you to kiss me, suck me, fuck me or any other sexual act. I mean, if you _wanted to willingly_ , I would certainly never decline though.” He winks and I want to rip out his eyeball!

“Never.”

“Never is a long time. But anyway, you know, Alexander, I’ve been meaning to compliment your fighting skills. They are quite impressive. You killed a lot of my pawns back in the states. Like _a lot_. So I’m going to hire you to work for me. You’re welcome.”

I try to suffocate my surprise, but I’m not quick enough to kill it. “What? No. Not interested.”

Deo rolls those silver coin eyes. He’s not gonna buy me with those.

“Oh, c’mon, boy! Your face! _Staaaphhh it!_ You look like I’ve just asked you to kiss a girl. Stop being a brat! You can accept the position willingly or be forced. It’s not sexual so I have no reservations employing you through our bond. You’re going to be a bouncer at my club in Athens. You’ll be well-paid and I’ll even give you your own private apartment, blackout curtains, blood bags and all!” He makes a ridiculous ‘clawing hand’ gesture toward me. “ _Rawr!_ You are going to _kill_ the uniform. It’s another toga! But it’s rather skimpy and all black, your favorite color! Think of it: you’ll get to show off your gorgeous physique; be bossy, rude, occasionally kick ass _and_ get paid! It’s ideal for you!”

“I’d rather die.”

“The second time is permanent, sweetheart. There is no ‘vampire level two’, well, other than myself. But you gotta be born this spectacular. _Sorry._ ”

“I want to see my parabatai.”

“Oh, by Zeus’ mercy! Here we go again! Tell me, Alexander, is Jace this clingy with you?”

“Yes.”

“But you two don’t fuck each other?”

“No.”

“ _Hmm,_ well, no loss. Jace handles the seraph blade brilliantly, but . . .” Deo gestures toward my crossed legs, “. . . you need an experienced expert to handle what _you’re_ packing. Such as me.”

_Dammit._

“I’ll never work for you or touch you. Never. No. Not going to happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooo much for reading!  
> Comments feed my Muse and she's totally from Greece, just like Deo. ;)  
> Greece is my favorite place in the world. I was supposed to go back there this summer but, well, you know the times are unprecedented and safety before travel, of course. But since I can't go back to Greece, my imagination is gonna take these characters there instead! Thanks for using your fan fiction passport and joining in! ;)  
> Please 'toss a comment to you writer' (to the tune of 'toss a coin to your witcher'). Thank youuuuuu! I hope you enjoy and stay safe!  
> Maia's Pen


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

(Jace)

My parabatai has been missing for twenty-one days, but I’ve barely been conscious for two of them. Yesterday I awoke into a nightmare— _no,_ a nightmare would have been a relief, a fuckin’ temporary paradise. I’m like a snowman trapped in hell. I feel like every cell in my body — the essence of my very soul — is melting away, disappearing like I was never even here. Without Alec I’ll soon be nothing. He is the only one who can save me from this metaphorical-and-yet-all-too-real damnation.

My sanity is seriously hanging off the edge. I’m actually okay with hanging here, but only _if_ Alec is clinging to the ledge beside me. My parabatai’s presence solidifies my grip. My ‘sanity fingers’ are feeble, fractured and slathered in butter. Falling is inevitable and will probably be headfirst; through storm clouds and into a pit of spikes, _and yeah,_ it ain’t gonna be pretty.

_Alec, I miss you. I can’t catch my breath without you. I miss you so much. I can’t focus without you. I need you. I can’t live without you. Hang your ass over this cliff with me, pull me up or fall with me. I don’t care which, but we do it together. Don’t leave me alone. Please . . ._

_I miss you._

_I miss you._

_I miss you._

I need Alec and I’ll take him in _any state_ , even dying. Alec dying in front of me was better than him just being gone. At least Alec’s fading heartbeat still beat in time with mine. At least Alec’s ragged breaths still aligned with my own. Our agony was excruciating, but it was _our agony_ to endure _together._

This ‘solo suffering’ thing isn’t for me. My heart continues to beat, but it’s like a masochistic, tequila-lovin’ drummer who’s banging away on his own chest. Oh, and his drumsticks are hammers. Needless to say he’s out of rhythm. I hear my own breathing, but it’s in desperate need of auto-tune without Alec to stabilize me. One moment I’m hyperventilating and the next I’m not breathing at all.

I need to touch him, hear him, see his gorgeous-fucking-smile or I’ll never smile again. I’ll never function again. I’m not even alive without him, I’m just this existing-miserable- _thing_ that is about a second away from releasing sanity’s edge and landing inside a loony-bin or a coffin. But I’m not going to let go, because letting go would mean giving up on Alec. I do need my parabatai to save me, but he needs me to save him even more. I won’t fail him again. I’m gonna get Alec back.

_Yeah, that’s right._

I know that Alec is rescuable. And that is the _only reason_ why I haven’t offed myself (and I’m continuing to suffer my endless internal monologue). My parabatai’s heartbeat and breathing are gone, but he isn’t. I believe that he’s been turned into a vampire, but unfortunately I’m the only one who believes me.

After my parabatai was murdered Magnus did come to Vermont looking for us. However I don’t remember the ‘too-little-too-late’ rescue. My consciousness was lost in purgatory, someplace between my broken body and Alec’s dead one. I only remember waking up here — nineteen days later— bedridden in the medical unit at The New York Institute.

I awoke from dreamless-nothingness; confused-as-fuck and calling for Alec — reaching for him! But one of the medical staff took my hand instead. She expressed her condolences for my ‘parabatai’s passing’ and explained that The Clave had me placed into a ‘magically-induced-healing coma' due to my injuries. _Yes,_ that’s what the medic actually called it. I guess ‘magically-induced-suicide-prevention-coma’ didn’t have the same catchy ring.

The medic urged me to drink water, remain calm and take a deep breath.

She obviously never had a parabatai.

I spat, I threw my pillow and I screamed _every_ curse word I knew and then invented a few more! I told the medic the same thing I’ve been telling everyone else since: _Alec is still out there and we need to find him!_

I'd be searching for him right now if I could, but I’m about as useful as tits on a nun. I can’t even take a piss on my own let alone stand. My right foot continues to cripple me. My limb is in a cast which is secured within a sling which is suspended above the sickbed. The elevation is supposed to increase blood-flow and healing time, but it’s only elevating my frustration and increasing my outburst time! Even with Magnus’ extra ‘healing TLC’ the medics claim I’ll remain bedridden for at least another week. And even _if_ I managed to roll outta bed and crawl toward the door _I'm still fucked_. There is damn psychiatric ward stationed outside! The ward is buff like a wrestler and trained to intercept me. _Yeah,_ apparently the coma wasn’t enough. I’m also under psychiatric supervision AKA ‘suicide watch’. It’s protocol to observe the surviving half of a parabatai. More often than not the living parabatai will attempt to end themselves after losing their _everything._ And, of course, if I thought Alec was actually dead-dead then that ward would have his work cut out for him.

None of The Clave bigwigs have come by to interview me yet, I suspect they’ll be here within the week though. I'll be penalized for going on such a dangerous, non-sanctioned mission (a personal favor for Magnus), yada, yada, yada. They'll probably deliver a verbal lashing, but I'd prefer a physical one. I deserve to be punished for failing Alec and, at the same time, no punishment they can dole-out (even de-runing) could ever be _sufficient enough_ for my failure. No amount of pain will ever hurt as much as feeling my parabatai die.

Contrary to popular opinion: _I’m not delusional._ I comprehend that Alec’s body is dead. I watched him die. I felt him die. Our parabatai rune is gone. _But he isn’t gone._ I don’t feel him like I use to, _but_ _I can still feel him._ Our bond is like the lingering essence of a candle that was blown out hours ago, _just barely there._ There’s _just enough of him_ to keep me from releasing sanity’s edge. But one strong wind and Alec will be over-powered and I’ll sure-as-fuck be blown away.

_I NEED Alec. NOW._

My ‘Alec-spidey-sense’ (as Simon calls it) aside, his undead survival should be obvious to anyone with a lick of common sense. I don’t understand why it’s not!When I inform the medical staff of Alec's undead survival (which is the only thing I _do_ ) they continue to inform me that Alec is gone. I've heard the following phrases dozens of times already: that my parabatai and I were ‘just unlucky’; that our mission intel was ‘simply wrong’; that our situation was an ‘unfortunate tragedy’. I've hurled so many pillows at them that they've now revoked my 'pillow rights' and I have a sheet behind my head. Joke's on them because I've twisted this downy-soft-sucker into a whip. Like a pillow it's too soft to actually hurt anyone, but it'll be a shocker! 

_Just unlucky . . . simply wrong . . . unfortunate tragedy . . ._

_Those lines are the shittiest bullshit any bull has ever shit._

Over my lifetime of hunting I’ve learned that: if something feels slimy then that’s because IT IS. And our doomed mission feels like a slimy, rotten set-up. That toga-murderer-fuck went to _way too much_ trouble to orchestrate a scenario where Alec and I would be alone, over-run, over-powered; and where I would endure his death and not my own. I was forced onto my knees and given a front-row-VIP-experience to my parabatai’s execution. I realize I didn’t smell appetizing on the outside— sweat, puke, piss and all— but on the inside I’m pure gourmet angel blood. My scent must have had those fangy mouths watering, and yet not a single vampire even licked me. I can’t piece the murder motive together yet, but I will. That vampire made two big mistakes: he let me see his face and he let me live. I’m gonna hunt him down and then my face will be _the last one he ever sees._

 _Well_ . . . as soon as I can stand again. _Fuck_ that Jumbo Dracula! He stomped on my foot like it was a cockroach! If Alec hadn’t already sent him to hell on an arrowhead he’d be on my shit-list too.

The Clave expects me to lay in this bed for another week; just calmly counting ceiling tiles and all the ways I failed Alec and let him die. This very room just wants to sear guilt into my retinas with its unmerciful white _everything._ The walls are white. The ceiling is white. The floor is white. There’s not even a window for me to look outside. Not even a piece of art! By the angel, I’d be grateful for a portrait of Simon to stare at. Whoever decorated this room obviously wanted the patients to die of boredom or have their corneas bleached. Come to think of it . . . Alec oversaw the remodel of the sick-ward when he was head of the institute. _Well, that fucking figures._ I suspected he was ‘sexually vanilla’, but I didn’t know he wanted to flaunt it to all of the sick and injured Shadowhunters. No wonder Alec didn’t like looking at different shades of white for my wedding napkins, he only likes _one shade_ of white . . . _THIS ONE!_ The most virginal and sanitary color possible! The envy of toilet paper and Q-tips everywhere! I am so unbelievably annoyed with him and I miss him so fucking much! I want to cry until my eyeballs fall out and stain the floor with blood.

Clary, Izzy and Magnus now enter the room. My prize-winning recovery experience has the potential to either improve _or_ get flushed down the shitter even more. The Clave allotted these three a brief visit yesterday, but it was not a happy reunion. I was groggy and volatile, a lot like Alec when he gets woken up early. I told them about Alec’s death, described his murderer and begged them to help me find the toga-bastard — therein finding ‘now-vampire-Alec’— and . . . they were unreceptive to say the least. But, the tiresome trio is back so maybe they’ve come to their senses?

 _Nope._ They’re looking at me like I’m a pathetic, deranged sap who’s strapped — not only within the confines of this sickbed—but within the confines of the ‘denial’ stage of grief.

I skip the phony pleasantries. Alec is ‘priority always’.

“Hey! Can one of you at least bring me a computer or my phone so I can search for ‘toga-wearing vampires?” My visitors gape at me like I’ve _asked_ to see the tits on a nun (for the record, I have). “C’mon! If you won’t get me _my own_ phone, then at least get me a crutch or a wheelchair! I need to search for my parabatai! I can’t lay here like a useless wad. For fuck’s-sake, you all let me sleep for nearly three weeks! Alec and I can’t get that time back. He could be anywhere in the world by now! I have to find him! He’s got to be so-damn-scared and feel abandoned. Becoming a vampire will be worse than death for him and I’m the only one who’ll be able to get him through this.”

My companions disperse like they’re enacting practiced battle positions. Magnus moves toward the door. Like yesterdays visit he’s dressed in black from head to toe; there’s not a splash of color to be found, not even in his hair or on his nails. He’s in full-blown widower-mode. His attention is on his phone like he’s either expecting an important message or just wants to look at anything but me. Izzy flanks to my rightsize, enfolding her own leather-clad torso like she’s trying to keep her entrails from spilling out. Clary sits on the left side of my sickbed. My bride-to-be is dressed mundanely in jeans and a yellow sweatshirt. Her long ginger locks are damp and she smells nice, like coconuts. Normally I would have pulled Clary into my arms, but my body only wants Alec. It’s like being desperately thirsty and being given a cup of salt. Even the thought of expending energy on _anyone but him_ makes me nauseous.

Clary clears her throat and I glance at her, though not completely. Magnus’ fascination with his phone is distracting. Yesterday he was doting over me like a magical mother hen — massaging my broken foot with healing waves, conjuring me tomato soup, and today he hasn’t even looked at me.

“Jace, this is going to be very difficult for you to hear, but please try listening to me, okay?” Clary’s tone is rehearsed. She sounds like a parent prepping to tell their kid that Santa Clause isn’t real. “By the angel’s mercy Alec doesn’t feel anything anymore. He doesn’t feel scared or abandoned. He’s passed on. Alec has been at peace for three weeks now.” She reaches forward to hold my hand and I recoil like she’s Krampus.

Needless to say Clary and I did not get married. A conscious groom is kinda important for the ceremony. Yesterday Clary suggested that we get married after my foot is healed. I told her we would wait until my parabatai is home. And, whether I can walk on my own or not, I’m holding Alec to that piggy-back ride down the aisle he promised me. In fact I’m going to make him carry me everywhere I go for the rest of my life. Clary may find this annoying or overly-clingy; and there might be additional ‘paintbrush in the ass’ threats, but if she loves me she’ll just have to accept my new mode of transportation. Call it a marital deal-breaker.

Clary hits Izzy with a look that blatantly communicates _‘he still doesn’t get it’; a_ nd Izzy comes to her rescue, sitting on my other side. I’m trapped sandwich-cookie style. I’m helplessly centered in-between two women who I love, but I really wanna crack with my sheet-whip.

Izzy’s usually big brown eyes are swollen into bloodshot slits. I bet it’s painful for her to even look at me, and for a number of reasons.

“Jace, we didn’t want to tell you this yesterday. We wanted to give you some time to process, but it’s clearly time now.” Despite Izzy’s weakened appearance her voice is strong. “We already considered the possibility that Alec was turned into a vampire. The Clave scoured the globe for him. We had every Shadowhunter on seven continents on the look out; listening, pulling favors and offering bribes for _any_ information at all. But after only four days we learned that Alec was truly gone. Shadowhunters from every country reported the same tragic intel: that a young, male Shadowhunter had been murdered in New England and that his body parts and organs were selling big on the Downworlder’s Black Market.” Izzy inhales sharply like she’s trying not to puke. It would clearly be more pleasant for her to actually vomit then to speak these words, but she powers-through. “Jace, no other male Shadowhunter had died or gone missing during those four days. It sickens me, but we all know those body parts were Alec’s. He’s gone, Jace, just like your parabatai rune is gone.” She lays her hand on my forearm and caresses my skin, rubbing as tough I’ll absorb the horrible acceptance like lotion. “Alec was murdered. It’s awful. It’s unfair! It’s fucked! But he’s gone. My big brother is gone. And you asking for him, thinking he’s out there when he’s not . . . Jace . . . it’s breaking my heart even more.”

I lay a hand over Izzy’s and stroke her fingers like piano keys. I wish I could play the tune she needs for comfort and closure, but I can’t. Alec needs me to continue my one-man-stubborn-band.

“Yes, Izzy, I know that Alec _is_ gone . . .” I begin and her fair features flood with relief, _buuuttt_ I’m quick to build the ‘reality dam’, “but he’s _not dead_. I mean, _yes, he died_ , but I can still _feel_ him.”

“Feel him?!” Clary yelps, utterly dumbfounded.

 _Huh,_ I must not have shared that detail with these three yesterday. I was so disoriented it’s hard to remember everything that went down when I woke up.

Clary, Izzy and Magnus focus their sights on me like lasers. Clary and Izzy are burning me with pitiful disbelief, but Magnus’ shock may have singed my eyebrows.

“Didn't you hear what I just told you?” Izzy sounds genuinely concerned for my mental stability. That’s fair. I’m concerned too — the whole ‘sanity hanging on the edge’ and all.

“I heard you clearly. You said that the vampires dismantled Alec and sold him for parts like a car. If that’s true then show me the parts and confirm they’re Alec’s. _Oh, wait, what’s that?_ You _can’t_ show me any physical proof that Alec is dead-dead? Shocking-not-shocking." I mock snidely, knowing that I sound like a total douche-bag. "I _feel him,_ Izzy. My parabatai _IS_ out there, he needs me, and I’m stuck in this damn bed!”

Izzy retracts her hand like I’ve caught flame; and if I _have_ then the arsonist is Magnus’ with his burning-laser-stare.

My visitors toss around a wearied look like they’re playing ‘hot potato’. Magnus must have lost because he sighs a deflated-sounding sigh, like someone stuck a pin into his lungs.

The warlock doesn’t bother trying to comfort me with physical touch like the girls did. He remains where he is: by the door; his gaze shifting between me and his phone. 

“I can still feel Alec. _I feel him, feel him, feel him!”_ I repeat the words like they are the chorus to a catchy song. If I keep throwing the truth at them maybe it’ll eventually stick, just like a musical ear-worm. I’m prepared to recite these words a million more times, but I guess Magnus has already heard enough. I’m finally granted his full attention. His eyes are puffy from crying. He didn’t bother with eyeliner or any ‘magical makeover’ to conceal his heartbreak. Magnus has buried countless lovers, but this is his first time losing a husband (or so he thinks).

I press my case —Alec’s case— _our case_ again: “Magnus, listen to me! If Alec could get back to me he’d already be here! That means he’s trapped or injured. I can’t feel exactly what physical state he’s in, only that he’s out there and he needs me! I need him! Our bond has been damaged worse than my fuckin’ foot, but it’s endured! Dammit! You _have_ to believe me!”

“Jace,” Magnus pronounces my name like it’s a difficult foreign word, “the ward said that you might experience this sensation. He called it a ‘phantom bond’. What you feel is your ever-hopeful imagination getting the better of you. We all wish it were true. But it’s not. It’s the illusion of your bond. You don’t feel Alec anymore and, overtime, the sensation will fade.” He is kind enough to leave out the ‘psychiatric’ part of the ward’s title. Magnus is trying to be gentle, nudging me toward reality’s oblivion where Izzy and Clary wanted to push me. Good old ‘tough love’ from my sister and fiancée. But I’ve never been one for gentle nudges, so I’m going to push reality back at Magnus with a dash of salt.

“Hey, _Magnus_ , I notice that your phone seems really important right now. Where was that priority when Alec was being sucked dry?! If you’d just answered he’d be here right now.”

 _Meow._ Magnus’ cat-eyes escape their cranial-kitty-crate and flare _for just a moment_ before he locks them away.

“JACE!” Clary and Izzy scream like I’m the demon.

“It’s true!” I defend. “You all knew we were on a hunt and you turned your phones off!”

“They weren’t off,” Magnus’ hand migrates to his heart, he presses against his chest like he’s trying to keep the organ from ripping through his flesh and fancy velvet vest. “I don’t know why our phones didn’t ring. We were shopping in manhattan, we lost track of time and must have . . . also lost service. The worst timing .. . the-the worst fluke of—I-I can't explain it, Jace.”

“Your phones ' _didn’t ring’_.” I chew on the words and they taste really fishy. And like a chuck of bad fish I can’t swallow them. “That’s one helluva coincidence. All three of your phones went off the grid, _in unison,_ and right when Alec and I needed your help the most?”

My future wife backs-up her warlock. “It _was_ a fluke, Jace! Beyond horrible, beyond unlucky! The phones are mundane technology, they aren’t perfect. You could’ve sent a fire message!”

“Well, we were a bit preoccupied _fighting for our lives_ , Clary! Everything was happening really fast. We were down to one seraph, one stele; I had one useless leg and about sixty vampires were closing-in. Alec barely had time to draw a few runes before he was absolutely swarmed trying to protect me! Besides, Magnus told us he would be waiting for our call!” My blood-pressure and dick-dial are getting cranked way-the-fuck _UP_. “You know what, Magnus? Alec really believed that you were coming to rescue him. Even when the vampires overwhelmed him, broke his ribs and forced him onto his knees to die in the dirt. Even then he still had faith that you would show up! But you didn’t! You failed him!”

Cat-eyes are back and Magnus is pacing; fists balling like he’s itching to give me a good-old-fashion spanking. I know that he wants to ream me out too — that he wants to say: _‘Fuck you, Jace! You are his parabatai! You are ‘bond-bounded’ to save Alec and you didn’t. So you’re the one who failed him’._ But Magnus has too much poise; centuries of practice honing his self-control and he’s way too classy to bitch-slap me back with nasty.

“What are you accusing me of, Jace?” Magnus’ voice fades on his lips, I can barely hear him. “That I _wanted_ my husband — _the greatest love of my entire existence_ — to be murdered and taken away from me forever? That I’m happy my phone didn’t ring? Is _that_ what you really think?”

The devastation in his face could crack concrete.

I flinch.

He flinches.

And then Magnus’ eyes are warmer then coco again and he . . . starts to cry. Clary and Izzy rush to him and the three of them become a hugging mass of wretched sobs.

_Oh, fuck. I’m an asshole._

“No, Magnus, of. . . of course not.” I can’t rise to join the group hug, but my voice is as tender as my embrace would have been. I’m lashing out and the warlock is an easy target. I know Magnus loves Alec. I mean not as much as I do, _obviously_. But he’s proven time and again that he would give up _anything,_ even his own magic, to protect Alec. I’m beyond frustrated that Magnus won’t believe me about Alec surviving, and I’m livid that our phones didn’t connect, but neither are his fault. I don’t really want to hurt him . . . and Alec will be mad at me if I do, so I do something that’s always been difficult for me: I apologize. “I’m sorry, Magnus.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Magnus says, only making me feel worse. “Anger is a natural part of the healing process. I’ve spent the past three weeks being angry and blaming myself. I’ll never forgive myself for sending Alec on that mission. If blaming me helps you to grieve, Jace, then please lash out all you need. I understand. I miss him too.” Magnus materializes a black handkerchief and dabs at his eyes. “It’s all the little things about Alexander that I miss the most. His soft snores when he was deep in sleep . . . and those expressions he would make when he _really wanted_ to say something unbecoming, but then thought better of it.”

Clary and Izzy laugh a duet of reminiscing heartbreak and grip Magnus' torso all-the-tighter, like he's the only thing keeping them upright. 

“That’s where you and I differ though,” I point out. Alec may be able to filter his words into his face, but I’m a work-in-progress. “All those things about Alec that were ‘little things’ to you were _everything_ to me. Alec’s snores, his rude faces, they made up my _entire world_. I never took them for granted. I always noticed them, appreciated them — _fucking worshiped them_ with my entire soul. You can so easily mourn him and accept that he’s gone, but I’ll _never_ give up on him. I _will_ find him with or without your help.”

“He’s dead.” Magnus breathes the words like they are his own dying ones.

“Alec isn’t dead. He’s a vampire.”

“Jace, please stop it!” Clary screams like I’m kicking Magnus in the head. “Your rune is gone.”

“My parabatai rune disappearing means nothing. All of Luke’s runes disappeared when he turned into a werwolf. You all need to consider the possibility that—”

“Jace, are you deaf?” Izzy sounds like she wants to kick me in the head.

I must’ve swallowed audible ipecac syrup for up come more hurtful words: “You should be ashamed of yourself, Izzy! If _you_ were the one missing Alec would never stop searching for you, let alone bail after _just three weeks!_ NO WAY! He’d never give up! He’d rip the world apart to find you.”

My sister looks at me like I’ve ripped a hole through her chest, yanked out her heart and then hocked a loogie onto it. Izzy has the tact not to dignify my words with words; instead she holds her head high and excuses herself from the room.

“Jace!” Clary rushes at me, swatting my shoulder like a fly has touched down. “That was low. While you’ve been comatose the rest of us have been suffering. I’ve been mourning Alec and been worried sick about you! Listen, I’m here for you. I love you. I will support you through this. I know that losing Alec is fresh for you — you are two-days in and not a month. _I get it._ It's unbearable! But please don’t push us away or think that we loved Alec any less just because we’ve accepted that he’s gone. Please try to comprehend that the rest of us have started to make peace and have said our goodbyes.”

“Speaking of ‘goodbyes’,” Magnus interjects, takes Clary’s hand and kisses her knuckles. “I’m sorry to do this to you, biscuit, but I have to leave town for while.”

Clary doesn’t mask her disappointment. “Oh, is everything alright? For how long?”

“Everything is fine. Just warlock business. You know how it is . . . the Downworld dramatics never pause even when we wish that they would. I shouldn’t be gone long though and I’m just a phone call away.”

I channel my inner-Alec and make a face like I’ve licked a werwolf’s asshole (for the record, I have). _But hey,_ I didn’t say _‘better to send a fire message’._

Clary and Magnus share a big goodbye-squeeze.

“Safe portaling, Magnus.” I offer my well-wishes and add: “Where’d you say you were goin’ again?”

“I didn’t say, but it’s hardly top secret.” Magnus looks at my pathetic busted leg and then his sight slides to meet mine. He offers me a sympathetic smile, and that smile pours over me like Vermont maple syrup on a candy-coated blondie. It's a bit too sweet. “I’m going to Athens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying this story then please leave a comment and let me know. I would really appreciate it! Fan fiction writers work for comments. We wanna know our stories are being read and enjoyed -- that's what motivates us to keep writing. =) Also, I would love some suggestions on where else I can share my Jalec stories. I'm pretty new to the Shadowhunter's fandom and don't know where else to share my own works, and also where look for other fics to read myself! I love reading Jalec as much as I love writing it. Thanks sooo much! BE WELL! Maia's Pen


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

(Alec)

I didn’t like crowds when I could breathe and being unable to breathe hasn’t changed that. But if I could breathe I’d be breathing down some rando’s neck. I can’t move an inch without bumping into a partying Downworlder. I’m just trying to make my way from the door to the bar. It’s less than twenty steps; but I’d have an easier time navigating Time’s Square on Black Friday with anvils strapped to my feet. The club is at capacity with three-hundred heads, and yet . . .

I feel more alone than I ever have before.

It’s been three weeks since I closed my living eyes on Jace and reopened my dead ones on Deo. No one has tried to rescue me. It’s possible The Clave has written me off, but my family and friends must be searching nonstop. Through our sire-bond Deo has prohibited me from _any actions_ which could lead to my rescue. I can’t even put a message in a bottle saying _‘Hey! I’m in Greece!’._ But Jace knows I’ve endured. And my parabatai will never stop looking for me. He'll tear the world apart. He’ll come for me. He will.

I miss Jace— _no._ The word ‘miss’ is pitifully inadequate. Like witnessing a typhoon decimate a nation and calling it a ‘bummer’. I miss sunshine. I miss pancakes. I miss my bow and arrows. I miss my runes. I really miss my friends, my family, my husband; _but Jace_ . . .

Every undead cell in my body aches for my parabatai — _reaches for him_ because he’s the only one who can grab me, shake me and make me feel like _me_ again. _ME!_ Not a blood-thirsty, sex-crazed beast. I’m disgusting, an abomination that shouldn’t exist. _I’m frightened of me_ , but Jace won’t be.

Somehow my evil, dead heart is still capable of _feeling_. It can’t beat and yet it can’t stop loving Jace. I can’t stop loving my parabatai anymore than I can stop the sun from rising in the sky. _Hmm_ . . . the word ‘love’ is also pitifully inadequate. ‘Love’ is a mortal word with a mortal definition. But there are no words (in any language that I know) capable of describing what I _feel_ for Jace. My _need_ for him. I need skin to keep my organs from falling out. I need bones to stand upright. And I need Jace to _be me again._ And I owe it to him to find out why he was forced to watch me die. I will abolish the blame that _I know_ he’s torturing himself with. And hopefully I’ll be able to solve my murder by the time he rescues me. _This_ is what keeps my skin and bones walking down this lonely, Downworld road.

Unfortunately I haven’t made headway with my murder investigation. Deo admitted that someone hired him to kill me. I can only assume that the motive was revenge on Magnus for _something_. Throughout history Magnus has made many friends and many foes, and the best way to hurt his immortal heart would be to stop my mortal one. Magnus and I knew that my mortality made our relationship a target, but it was a risk we were willing to take because we love each other. Unlike my feelings for Jace, I _can_ describe Magnus’ and my love. Our love is pure as moonlight, a constellation burning with drama and passion! And, _damn,_ his skilled body launches me into those stars. We respect, admire and support one another to no end. Magnus’ smile makes me weak-in-the-knees. His charisma makes me laugh, and his power makes me vulnerable . . . or _made_ me vulnerable.

Our motto was ‘quality of years together over quantity’. Maybe we’d get a year more together, maybe ten, maybe fifty? The span of our love was up to Fate’s decree and we accepted it. I never wanted to live forever, and so the love story of Alec and Magnus would have a beginning, a middle and an end. Of course, my death hasn’t ended our love story the way it should have. I supposed it is truly endless now, well, unless Deo loses his temper before I’m rescued.

Someone revenge-killing me makes sense, _but_ I can’t understand why Jace was forced to watch? Why the vampires didn’t kill him too? Jace could still be in danger. Magnus may be in danger. But it’s been impossible for me to press Deo for intel. The bastard keeps bond-banning me from speaking their names in his presence. As in _physically editing me_ — through our sire-bond he can actually prevent my mouth from speaking words he doesn’t want to hear. And so the only time Jace’s name falls from my lips is when I’m jerking-off. Something I do so frequently I’m impressed my cock hasn’t fallen off. I always start out thinking of Magnus — _but I can’t help it—_ my traitorous, undead body needs to finish imagining my golden parabatai . . . usually on his knees . . . my fingers fisted in his thick blond hair . . . those gorgeous-mismatched-eyes watering as he struggles to choke down my . . .

_. . . umm . . .anyway . . ._

In addition to the anti-rescue and verbal filters Deo has also forced me into his employment. I’m a bouncer at his nightclub in Athens. The club is called _Kακία,_ which translates to ‘wickedness’; and considering what goes on in here it’s an appropriate name. This is where vampires from all over the world come to blood-binge, dance, fuck and fight, which is where I come in.

By day _Kακία_ is a popular mundane tourist attraction. It’s glamoured to be the ancient, rundown Temple of Zeus. But to the Downworlder’s eye there is nothing rundown about it. This temple is thousands of years old (like Deo) and is in spectacular condition (also like Deo). The entire structure is solid marble, framed within massive columns and the ceilings are nearly sixty feet high. The interior is the size of a small football field and is as ornately decorated as Deo’s tomb. The floor isn’t even a floor — it’s a gargantuan tile mosaic depicting the greek pantheon. The walls are decorated with tapestries showcasing gods and heroes. However, nothing compares to the centerpiece: a statue of Zeusdominates the scene. He almost seems to grow from the ground like a glittering golden mountain. The Olympic king is seated on a thrown that is more bedazzled than any furniture in Magnus’ collection. It is _jewel-encrusted_ and when Deo clicks on the spotlight, _get your sunglasses on,_ because that chair sparkles like a rainbow disco ball. Zeus grips his thrown with one hand and his legendary lightning bolt with the other. This golden bolt nearly impales the ceiling. I’ve never seen a work of art this impressive. Other than Jace.

The house DJ, Hellfire Homer, spins at Zeus’ feet. Homer is about as big as Zeus’ foot, and I wish the Olympic king would stomp on him. Homer is blaring an electronic music mix that is upbeat. It’s making everyone smile and dance. _I don’t like it._ It looks like I’m stranded in an ocean of drowning undead, all I can see are flailing arms and bobbing heads.

I shove some giddy-fanged-idoit out of my way and huff with annoyance. _Yeah, that’s right,_ I can force air through my mouth and huff now. I’ve learned quite a lot about my vampire body, including the fake inhale-exhale thing. Deo says I'm a fast learner. It requires effort to pull off, but I like doing it. Of course there is no need for me to ‘play mundane’ in this position. Mundanes are not allowed inside _Kακία._ Neither are Shadowhunters and werwolves. Seelies and warlocks are allowed as long as they’re on Deo’s guest list. One of my duties is to ensure that no one gets inside who is not invited, and every night the line of hopeful clubbers winds down the block. Several times a night someone tries to enter who isn’t on my list; they get belligerent and I get to restrain them and forcibly remove them from the premises. It’s the highlight of my new dark life. 

Right now it’s 2:17AM and I’m on my _mandatory_ ten minute break. It’s pointless to have a ‘work break’ when you are immortal, but my sire’s rules are to be followed.

Most of my co-workers, AKA Deo’s other ‘minions’, spend their break by tossing back a few bloodshots with their friends or by finding someone to dance with on the ‘gore floor’ (as Deo calls it). Well, I’m not allowed to drink on the job; I don’t have any friends, and I’d rather hack my own legs off with an axe than dance with anyone. And so every night I hustle my way to the bar, sit down for the dutiful ten minutes and try to look as unapproachable as possible.

Accomplishment pats my ass in the form of the bar stool. _I made it!_ The journey from door to stool was especially challenging to navigate tonight. I wish I _could_ celebrate with a drink . . . _but_ then I’d just end up fucking the next Downworlder who looked at me (and pissing Deo off).

I reach into my sandal and pull out the cellphone Deo gave me. The only number programed into it is his; and my fingers are _physically unable_ to press anything other than his name. I've tried thousands of times and I try again anyway . . . Jace's number _-nope_. Magnus _-nope_. Izzy- _nope._ Jace again _-nope._ I can't do it. 

Staring at the screen makes me feel even more alone. I put the phone away and set my arms on the counter top, balling my fists and glaring at the back wall like it banged my mom. Despite my unsocial efforts patrons constantly offer to buy me a bloody drink or ask for a dance. I know my expression says ‘fuck off’ — I mastered that one while still alive — but this skimpy toga just says ‘let’s fuck’, and so these blood-drunk fools think I’m playing ‘hard to get’.

On cue . . . 

“Hey, sexy, ‘aving a nice evenin’? Fancy a drink?” The voice beside me is female and very British. She’s difficult to understand over the music.

I ignore her.

There is a tap on my shoulder. “How ‘bout a bloodshot, luv?”

I ignore her.

Another tap.

I turn toward her.

The vampire is a cute brunette and I glare as though she’s just vomited on my greek sandals. She jumps back as though _I_ vomited on her stilettos. She raises her hands in mock surrender and wisely retreats without another word.

I would rather get hit in the head with a pipe than _hit on_! And yet this ‘flirting thing’ happens more frequently than fights. Deo says it’s my own fault for ‘owning’ this ridiculous outfit he has me working in. I look like a stripper, not security. Even Izzy wouldn’t leave The Institute showing _this much_ skin. The toga is black and _shimmery_ , like someone tarred and feathered the fabric but with glue and glitter. I hate glitter. It fastens over my right shoulder and barely covers one nipple. My entire torso is free-eye-range for Deo’s patrons, and they ogle me the way Magnus use to when we first met. The attention was flattering from him, but it’s just gross from everyone else. Even the bottom half is short like some girl’s negligee, it hardly covers my thighs. _Ughhh!_ As though I don’t look absurd enough I’m wearing a golden band around my forehead _and_ shin-high golden sandals.

I explained to Deo that this outfit provides me with _zero armor,_ but he argued that greek warriors fought in togas for centuries and that their maneuverability was second-to-none. I mean, _okay fine,_ I can’t argue the maneuverability aspect . . . but, _shit,_ this is awful. The loose, skimpy clothing feels as foreign to my body as my own dead, runeless skin.

One of the bartenders, Eógan (another of Deo’s ‘minions’) raises his eyebrow at me as though I just told a bad joke. Deo murdered Eógan in Ireland some three-hundred years ago, but he looks no older than me. The Irish vampire certainly ‘owns’ his toga. He’s handsome and strong with long ginger hair like Clary. When he speaks greek in his Irish accent it’s almost entertaining. But my dead lips don’t smile, and even if they could, I never would.

“Giatí óchi, Alexander? Eínai ómorfi.” Eógan shakes his head, clearly baffled. I’m picking up a little bit of the greek language, at least enough to understand that Eógan doesn’t understand why I’m always rude to those who want to fuck me.

“I’m married.” I tell him, as I do every night.

“Chreiázesai éna potó.” He says something to the effect that _I_ need a drink.

“No. Ochi.” I add in greek. “Not allowed.”

Eógan nods. His aqua-eyes douse me with pity and he turns his attention to an actual customer.

I’m not allowed to drink blood on the job. This is one of Deo’s rules. In fact, I’m not even allowed to drink blood within two hours of coming to work. Blood makes me so horny I’d stick my dick in anything — a hole in the ground; a pita pocket; maybe even a woman. This damming-lust is a ‘perk' of being sired by an ancient. _Any_ repressed feelings in life will emerge with a vengeance. Drinking blood activates these repressed feelings. Deo assures me that these effects are temporary — temporary as in lasting fifty to one-hundred years. So if someone had violent tendencies while alive, they’ll basically be a homicidal maniac as a vampire. If someone was a closeted drug addict while alive, they’ll obsessively crave the blood of mundane junkies. Or, if someone felt 'sexually-starved' while alive, they’ll come back as a nymphomaniac. Which is the ‘vampire bracket’ I’ve fallen into.

I’m not sure why I’m ‘sexually-starved’ (Deo’s words). I mean, Magnus and I enjoyed a satisfying and active sex life but, for whatever reason, blood makes me over-the-top-overwhelmingly-horny. My cock feels like it’s starving and chronically ill at the same time and — if I can’t feed my need, alleviate the pressure — I’ll just peel my own skin off and then burn the entire world to ash. I frequently psychoanalyzed myself when I could breathe and being unable to breathe hasn’t changed that. I discovered sexual gratification later in life than most young adults; being of age to taste alcohol before tasting my first kiss. Before meeting Magnus I masturbated (of course), but did so always fantasizing about Jace, and then feeling disgusted with myself for having sinful, unnatural thoughts about my own parabatai. I avoided romance all together. _I knew_ Jace was an impossible pipe dream _(there’s a joke there),_ but I ‘held out’ for him anyway. I wished he would be the first one, _the only one_ , who I would ever lay with intimately. But, because it never happened, _I think_ explains why I’m like this now. Though I accepted that we would never share romantic love, I never stopped feeling attracted to Jace. _How could I?_ A blindfolded, blind person would probably swoon over him — his pheromones, his voice, his charm. But his physical beauty is just . . . wow. His beauty has always pulled me in with the force of black hole, but it’s stronger now. _So. Much. Stronger._ My attraction collapses black holes and eats them for breakfast. Like I want to collapse with him, onto him, inside him and devour him in every sense of the . . .

_. . . umm . . .anyway . . ._

I’m just a slave to blood, a slave to lust and a slave to Deo’s will. Because Deo knows I’ve fallen into the ‘nympho bracket’ he’s trying to help me remain under control. The word ‘help’ is ridiculous and his aid is entirely selfish — he just doesn’t want his latest minion to be a liability. My sire insists that the only way to curb my lust is to stick to a strict schedule. And so Deo wrote me such a schedule and I am adhering to it because, _so far,_ it’s actually working. Routine is keeping me sane _and_ from shoving my dick into every orifice offered to me.

True to his word Deo has supplied me with a private apartment. It’s fully-furnished and complete with blackout curtains, a fridge stocked with blood bags and an at home gym. He even pays me a hefty cash salary (not that I have anything to spend it on, so the euros stack up like my laundry). Deo has provided me with everything I need to function . . . except for Jace. My sire had copies of my schedule framed and hung on _every single_ _wall_ of the apartment. It goes like this . . .

_‘Dear Alexander, here is your routine. Follow this exactly or I will make you._

_xo xo xxx Your loving Sire, Deo_

_*8PM: Wake up, likely with a boner._

_*8-8:05PM: Pleasure yourself once, make it quick._

_*8:05-9PM: Exercise in the gym, lift heavy and punch hard._

_*9-9:10PM: Drink five blood bags. A fresh delivery will arrive every Monday and Thursday at 9PM. The bags will be packed in a cooler on your front stoop. You need only open the door and unpack them. You will only be given mundane ‘type o’ for the first three months until your system stabilizes._

_*NOTE: The blood will make you horny as fuck._

_*9:10-10PM: Pleasure yourself as many times as possible. Get it all out before 10PM. Feel free to fantasize about me. ;)_

_*10-10:30PM: Shower, polish fangs, apply cologne and get dressed for work. There are ample uniforms in the closet. Every Sunday at 1AM (while you are at work) one of my cleaners will come by to sort your trash and laundry. You’ll always have clean uniforms so no excuses. I don’t want to see you in anything but a toga (or naked!). ;)_

_*10:30PM: Lock up apartment and walk (do not run) directly to work. Do not interact with anyone along the way. Kακία is an exact fifteen minute walk from your apartment. You should never be late, and if you are, there will be consequences._

_*10:45PM: Arrive at work. Find me (the best-looking vamp in Greece) and receive the nightly briefing and guest list._

_*11PM: You are on the clock. Be at your post (main entrance) to admit guests. This will be exactly two hours after digesting the blood and clearing your pipes. You will be able to function like your dull, moody self for the duration of your shift so long as you do not consume any blood. YOU ARE FORBIDDEN FROM CONSUMING BLOOD._

_*2:15-2:25AM: Take a 10 minuet break. You may dance or chit-chat with guests (yeah right), but do not drink any blood._

_NOTE: Your hot ass may get smacked by the odd unruly patron. You are only allowed to become angry, not aroused. Only my touch will arouse you, as long as you do not drink any blood._

_*2:25AM: Return to post (main entrance) to admit guests._

_*3:50AM: Find me to report any evening highlights._

_*4AM: Leave work and walk (do not run) to apartment. Do not interact with anyone along the way._

_*4:15AM: Arrive at apartment._

_*4:15-5AM: Shower and get into bed. Reading is optional. You may read ‘The Iliad’, ‘The Odyssey’ or ‘The Theogony’. I have left copies of all three on your nightstand. But you must be asleep by 5AM._

_*5AM-8PM: Sleep (dream of me). Rinse. Repeat.’_

I abide by this schedule seven days a week. Deo offered me a day off to ‘relax’ in the apartment, but what would be the point? I have nothing else to do. And _just the thought_ of deviating from my schedule makes me feel like I’m riding a werwolf through a minefield.

“Alexander.” My body to turns toward my sire’s voice like a flower to the sun. Only I’m more like a dandelion, dressed up like a flower but really a wretched weed. Deo is standing less than a foot behind me and, as always, I never saw or heard him approach.

Deo is wearing a toga as silver as his eyes; it’s skimpy like mine, flaunting his hoard of smooth muscles. I _hate_ that he looks good in it. And I _hate_ that he’s tied his hair up in that ‘man-bun’ thing because that looks good too. My sire smiles down at me and it’s the kind of radiantly-sexy-perfect-flirty-fanged smile that would get any vampire in the club to drop their panties. Except me. For one thing I’m not wearing any (‘commando’ is part of my dress-code). But more so— even though I _am_ attracted to him ( _I can’t help it_ ) — I would never touch him. Not unless he compelled me to. But, thus far, Deo has kept his word that he would never force me to ‘kiss him, suck him or fuck him’ unless I wanted it. While my sire _is_ unbearably flirty and handsy, he is otherwise a consummate professional when it comes to the security and efficiency of running Kακία.

I don’t smile back. Instead I stand up and I stare Deo down as though he murdered me and took me away from my parabatai.

“Kalinychta! Oh, Alexander, you are happy to see me! I can tell!” My sire’s annoying enthusiasm fits with the music.

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”

I serve him the truth and he drinks it like a shot of virgin blood — _giggling_ as though _I’ve_ flirted with _him_! My sire raises his hand to touch me. _I want to shove him backward, block the assault,_ but I can’t _._ Deo rubs his thumb over my left nipple it like he’s trying to raise a damn genie! But the only thing he’s raised is my damn cock.

I fail to suppress the sinful shudder. _Again._ I always fail. My vampire flesh remains hyper-sensitive — like every cell is a pleasure button wired directly to my cock and balls. My logical brain knows that Deo is only thumbing my nipple, but he might as well be thumbing my asshole. He knows the effect he’s having and he loves it. His pride glitters like Zeus.

“I have something to show you, please follow me.” Deo’s heady greek accent beckons me like a Siren’s call.

I plant my heels into the floor, desperate to root my body in place! But, _shit,_ it’s useless! Hurricane Deo uproots my determination like I really _am_ a dandelion.

“My-my break is almost, um, o-over.”

“Is there a vibrating plug up your ass? Why are you stammering?”

“No, um, I-I have to go relieve Hephaestion from the, you know, the front door—”

Deo raises a finger commanding _silence_.

I stop talking on my own before he can force me to.

“Hephaestion is fine working the door solo. Now, please follow me.” Deo’s eyes flash with challenge —he’s daring me to hit him with a second excuse not to obey.

I don’t say anything more. I just nod and gesture for him to lead the way.

“Good boy.” Deo praises me like a loyal hellhound. His silver sight saunters down my body, admiring me from where-he-bit-me-on-my-throat _to_ where-he-wants-to-suck-me-on-my-hard-cock. _Yeah,_ without any underwear this toga leaves my modesty without any modesty. I’m surprised (and relieved) that Deo hasn’t snagged the microphone from Hellfire Homer and announced my erection to the entire club.

My sire smiles a _very_ self-satisfied smile, and then, his attention flicks upward. Deo eye-fucks me harder than _life itself did_. I stumble backward like he’s shoved me— wholly unprepared for such a visual sexual assault! No man — alive or dead — has _ever_ looked at me like _this_ . . . like he wants to strip me bare and fuck my body until I’m a puddle of cum gagging on his. It takes all the effort my body has not to ejaculate like a pathetic adolescent.

I don’t understand how he’s doing this to me!? How can such a powerful vampire even exist?! All I do know is that: _I absolutely hate Deo and I hate my own body._

_Jace. Jace. Jace._

My parabatai’s name is my mantra and it secures my sanity — secures my legs from running into the nearest bonfire to burn (not that Deo would ever let me run). I touch my abdomen. This spot was once the most cherished part of my body. I would have sooner lost a leg than my parabatai rune. Now it’s just barren, pale skin — the tomb of _our_ rune. The rune Jace etched into my flesh, vowing to follow me forever. The physical rune may be gone, but our connection isn’t. I focus on my parabatai. In this moment I can _feel_ that Jace is physically sound; but what I can’t feel is how _he’s feeling_. I remind myself that Jace will never give up on me because I would never give up on him. He’s searching for me and —someday, somehow, someway— I _will_ see him again.

 _Feeling_ Jace through our bond was once like feeling my own heart beat inside my chest. I needed him more than my lungs needed air and I was plagued with the constant fear of losing him. At night this fear was like a monster under my bed — keeping me up, causing me to toss and turn and sweat through my sheets. During the day this fear was a devil on my shoulder, spitting terror inside me through my ear. Anytime Jace was sent on a hunt without me the devil lashed me mercilessly with _‘what ifs’!_ What if Jace was injured? What if I couldn’t get to him in time to save him? What if he was kidnapped or tortured or killed or— _shit._ Now _feeling_ him through our bond is like searching for a hairline scratch on perfectly polished marble. Once I find the scratch I have to keep my finger on it —if I move at all, even flinch— I may lose him forever.

_I’m staying strong for you, my parabatai._

_Jace._

_Jace._

_Jace._

_I just have to stay focused. Keep to my schedule and keep out of some bloodlust-induced Downworlder orgy until Jace finds me. I can do it. I can._

“Come along!” Deo’s voice cracks against me like some kinky sex whip, breaking my inner-pep-talk like skin. Then he spins on his heels à la ballet dancer (he probably was one at some point over history) and heads toward his office. The office is in the back of the club, directly behind Zeus’ back.

I’m Deo’s pathetic, dutiful shadow. We’re drenched in a downpour of curious gazes. Deo loves dancing in the rain, but I wish I could drown. My erection is as prominent as Zeus’ thunder bolt. The whispers are worse than thunder though, everyone thinks Deo is taking me into his office to fuck me. It’s a fair assumption as I’ve watched him lead countless others back there for the same reason. I think Deo continues to exist forever simply _to_ fuck. Night after night after night he ‘bangs it out’ with vampires, warlocks and seelies. His guestsenter the room looking prim and proper and exit looking like they’ve survived a war . . . and won.

Playing ‘the demonic gentleman’ Deo opens the door for me and I step inside. I’ve been in here once before: on my first day of work to get the ‘official club tour’. The room is spacious and dark like a cave, well, if the cave was the set of a mythology-themed porno. There are life-sized statues of Deo positioned in each of the four corners. All of the Deo’s are naked and as erect as I am, but their penises have been ‘artistically enhanced’. He’s hung like a centaur. And, for reference, _Kακία_ displays several half-man-half-horse artworks and those centaurs have monster cocks.

If I were still alive I’d need a night-vision rune to see everything. The only source of light is a stone oil lamp. It looks as old as Athens herself, and it probably is. The lamp suspends from the ceiling from leather straps and emits a faint glow and scent of olives and sage. The aroma makes me sad because I can’t enjoy olives and sage anymore, so I don’t sniff again and look down. The carpet is redder than blood for stain camouflage; and he marble walls are lined with a sofa darker than my hair. The sofa frames the entire room, only breaking to make room for the Deo statues and the two doors— the one we just entered trough and the emergency exit on the opposite side. Deo can probably seat forty asses in here . . . _and I’m sure he has and they all left sore_. In the center of the room is Deo’s desk. It’s carved from obsidian and sizable enough for two adult men to lay on . . . _which I’m sure happens a lot_. Beside his desk is refrigerator large enough for two grown men to fit inside . . . _which I’m also sure happens a lot_. This fridge is where Deo stores ‘the good stuff’ — blood of nephilim, mundane virgins, rare blood types, plasma and other delicacies that his patrons pay top dollar for.

I stand by the exit and fold my arms across my chest. Other than to parade my boner across the club, I can’t imagine why Deo has brought me back here.

My sire circles me like I’m prey and he’s starving. “I have a surprise for you, Alexander! But first: you need to drink a bloodshot.”

“What?!” I yelp like he’s shot me with a gun! “You can’t be serious?”

Deo scampers over to his fridge and removes a vial of blood. It looks nothing like the tomato-soup-colored blood I’ve been surviving on. This fluid is like liquified blueberries, which means it hasn’t oxygenated. It’s somehow been pulled from someone’s body without air interaction. I don’t want to think about how that procedure was done or who it belongs too, but I do anyway. Does this belong to man? A woman? Or worse . . . a child? Some unfortunate soul who fell into a Yin fen coma and was fed on, needled and drained? I just hope whoever it was survived.

“I’m not allowed to drink on the job.” I remind Deo. This must be a test. My sire told me to _never_ taste _even-a-drop_ of blood while at work. I am _only_ to drink within the privacy of my apartment. I’m not going to fail his exam. Devil knows what form of punishment he’ll delight in torturing me with.

Deo rolls his eyes, he is blatantly vexed with me— _but why?!_

My sire pops the cap off of the vial and I step backward, my ass bumping the door. I tense my facial muscles, forbidding myself from sniffing. If I can’t smell the blood I can resit it.

“Oh, _come_ now _,_ Alexander,” Deo presses sexual innuendo into the words. “Stop being so paranoid. You need to _loosen up_.” He thrusts his word-play harder, I lean back and the door handle nearly does the job for him. I reach behind me, grab the handle and jiggle it. _Locked._ And Deo’s locks are ‘vamp proof’. 

_Shit._

I stand straight as a training staff and my sight strikes him like one. “No.”

“No?” Deo parrots me like I’m a foreigner he can’t understand. He pushes the vial toward me; eyes like the sky before a monsoon. My sire is not ‘testing’ my resolve, he _wants_ me to _lose_ it. “Toss this blood down or I’ll make you.”

_Shit. Dammit._

_I CAN’T!_

_I’m going to loose my self-control, my inhibition! My arousal will be uncontrollable! I’ll be begging him to fuck me!_

_SHIT!_

_What do I do?_

_What can I do?_

I do the only thing I can.

I accept the vial.

Instinct makes me inhale and the mortal scent attacks me!

My dead body feels alive — reacting like I’m wrestling with Jace. Like he’s pinned me, squeezing my head between his muscled thighs! When in this position I pretended to be panting, but I was really inhaling Jace. His lingering body-wash, his pheromones, his sweat. . .

My fangs unsheathe themselves and I’m salivating like a rabid dog. I _have_ to drink this! I need it! I need it _so much!_ My hands are shaking, my knees are buckling! Bloody tears are stinging my eyes! Just like I could not deny my biological urge for Jace, so can I not deny Deo or my forthcoming desire. _I want to be good! I do!_ But my resolve is a dry twig in a blazing forest fire. I grab the vial and toss it back like a vodka shot. My tastebuds ignite like my resolve.

The taste! _WOW!_ What _is_ this?! This is not the standard 'type o' blood I've grown accustomed to. This is decadent. This is forbidden . . . this is the flavor of sin.

The liquid sin coats my esophagus, the lining of my stomach and is absorbed into my undead innards. The rush is better than vodka; better than Yin fen; better than Magnus’ hand on my cock. And this euphoric rush surges to my loins.

 _I could use my husband’s hand now . . . shit-shit-shit!_ My cock is harder than Deo’s stone lamp and I need to jerk-off _now-now-now-now-now!_ I have to relieve myself! THE TENSION! I’m gonna burst like a vamp stabbed with a seraph blade!

My right hand drops, shamelessly grabbing my dick through the toga. Through the fabric my cock responds to my familiar hand and _—all-hail-the-devil-fuuuccckkkin-hell_ — I feel so _goooood_. I’m a handful even for my big hand. I squeeze myself like I’m juicing a fruit, and my vision blurs like the juice squirted my eyes.

The pressure! _Ohhhh, fuckkkk ._ . . I need relief! I’m dizzy . . . _fucccckkkk!_ Deo is watching me . . . _fuuccckkkk ._ . . I scan the room, searching for a corner of privacy but there is none. _NONE!_ All the undead blood in my body is in my cock and balls! I’m leaning against the door; I can feel that door handle on my left ass cheek and I wish it was Jace’s finger — his tongue — his cock— _shit,_ am I really wishing a door handle was Jace?! _SHIT!_ The room is spinning like I’ve just stepped outta a Zeus-sized blender. My right hand is tugging my sanity away and my left hand is hiking up my toga — _shit,_ I’m going to expose myself in front of Deo- _no!_ I have to stop, but I can’t because it feels _too good_ and I need it!

I look at Deo and I cannot even imagine what my face looks like. My sire is staring at me too — gazing at me like I’ve just won the original olympics.

“By Zeus! Alexander, you are _fuckin’ gorgeous_. It’s completely unfair that I can’t _just have you_ right now.”

“ . . . _please_ . . .” the word is a whimper, chased by a cough as I gag down a plea for him to ‘ _please just have me’._ No, I can’t resort to that. I can’t beg Deo to relieve me! I can do it myself, but I don’t want him to watch! What do I do?! What can I do?! Why is this happening to me?!

_Jace. Jace. Jace_

“Sit down, Alexander,” Deo sighs with a level of annoyance that I’m unable to comprehend. But my body obeys, moving sideways and my ass falls against a sofa cushion. “Please set your hands to the side.” My hands peel themselves from my cock and stick to the sofa like velcro. “Now spread your legs.” My knees open at once, as though offended to touch the other. I’m thankful that the toga is _just long enough_ to cover my dick, though I’m pitching a tent large enough to shelter Deo from the sun.

My sire stares-down my cock like it’s a challenge. He wants to handle me _so badly_ that I can actually _see_ his own self-control wavering. Those long, ivory fingers twitch; his handsome face grimaces; his own erection bulges beneath gray cloth; he hunches over, anchoring his sandals into the carpet. It’s like an invisible monster is holding him back, but there is no monster. Deo is restraining himself. Unlike me, my sire is not a slave to his urges. He is the master of his own resolve.

“Cross your legs.” Deo says, disappointing both of our cocks. My legs oblige and — _shit_ —the pressure _! I NEED TO CUM!_

Nausea assaults me and I wretch. I didn’t know my undead body _could_ wretch. Bloody bile surges up my throat and dribbles down my chin. And that’s not all, I’m crying. I can taste my own bloody tears as they fall over my lips. My body _is_ so desperate to relieve itself of fluid it’s doing so the only way it can without breaking Deo’s will.

Deo _tisks_ at me, but does nothing to alleviate my sorry state. Instead he picks up his cellphone and proceeds to send a text message.

I’m pretty sure Deo doesn’t have a strobe light in here, but the room is flashing like some sugar-high asshole is flicking a switch on and off. Can vampires have strokes? Can we have seizures? My entire body clenches and trembles like there _IS_ a vibrator up my ass! And it’s cranked to the max! I taste blood in my mouth, I’m biting my tongue. Now I taste bile again. I’m vomiting again.

_Are my eyes open or closed?_

_JACE!!!_

_I want to call for him! I NEED to call for him! I want him to save me — to relieve my horrible, sinful body — but I can’t even say his name out-loud! Keeping his name inside is as unbearable as my load!_

_What is happening?!_

_What is going on?!_

_Why is Deo torturing me like this?! I’ve done everything he’s asked me to do! I’ve been a textbook employee! Why won’t he let me just relieve my cock! My body is going to combust! I’m going to die — again — and in the most fucked-up way!_

I hear _something_ now — a sound that I haven’t heard since the day I died. It’s the magical windstorm of a portal opening.

Through the blur of blood I see the papers on Deo’s desk go whirling around like autumn leaves. Deo is as still as one of his statutes, ridged with anticipation like he’s expecting a blind date to appear.

My head flops on my shoulders like a hooked fish. I don’t know if I can focus . . . long enough . . . to see . . . what’s . . .

“Welcome back to _Kακία,_ my dear friend! It’s been far too long!” Deo preforms an old fashion bow toward the portal and . . .

. . . my husband steps out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeee! Cliffee time! Thank you to everyone who has left a comment! I really appreciate the support. I LOVE YOUR WORDS! Feedback is always appreciated.  
> Heads-UP: The story is going to move at a Deo-level-fast pace from now on (and be frequently raunchy), so buckle your invisible seatbelt. The next chapter is almost finished and picks up **immediately** where this one ends. It's a DRAMATIC one! I hope to have it posted within the week. Please leave me some parabatai comment love! Your comments spur on my writing. Best wishes and be well, Maia's Pen


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This middle of this chapter contains some sexy action. If such action will make you uncomfortable please skip to the end.

Chapter 5

(Alec)

I don’t understand what’s happening. I just know that —in-between the strobe-light-stroke-inducing flashes— Magnus looks _amazing_. He’s dressed to break hearts, _no— to slay them_. Leave it to my husband to rescue me in style. Unlike me, Magnus was _made_ to shimmer and shine. His black suit is embellished with _so many_ sparkles he looks like he’s wearing the night sky. He balances out the dark with gold accents: a golden gingam-print tie, golden loafers and golden polish pops on his nails. Magnus’ face is clean shaven; hair styled high; and he went heavy on the eyeliner, just the way I like it. My fingers yearn to touch his beautiful face . . . smooth, tan skin . . . but my own dead flesh will look disgusting against his, like a maggot crawling across bronze.

_No! I don’t want him to see me like this . . . dead, horny, desperate! I’m covered in my own bloody vomit and bloody tears; helpless, unable to move!_

Magnus regards Deo with a curt nod, but his sight immediately homes-in on me. Relief devastates his face in the most utterly gorgeous way— like a wave destroying a sand castle, but leaving a smooth, sandy shore behind.

My physical shame is rapidly replaced by realization: _Magnus is here!_ _He’s really here! He's come to save me! He’s found me!_ _But why aren’t Izzy and Jace with him?_ _Clary? Simon? Anyone?_

 _It’s fine. Magnus is here and I’ve missed him so much and he’s going to_ _bring me home to Jace!_

“Alexander!” Magnus rushes to me, falling at my feet like his own have failed him. His hands find mine and he tries to interlace our fingers, but mine are stiff as steles. I can’t return his touch.

My vision blurs like I’ve been bashed over the head; but I battle blackout to regard my husband’s face. He doesn’t look happy. Those warm-chestnut eyes have been roasting for too long; they are burnt chestnuts now, and they roll down my face from bloody-tear-soaked lashes to bloody-vomit mouth.

I want to say his name! Ask him about Jace! Beg him to relieve my cock! But I can’t! I can barely keep my eyes open, my lashes are heavy like lead wires; and the pressure between my thighs is like an avalanche of lead blocks! I’m being crushed from the inside out and the outside in! My body is on strike, it can not longer emit _anything_ that is not cum.

“Open your legs.” Deo says and I do.

My erection is a surprise attack, jabbing Magnus' chest and probably leaving a bruise. My husband wasn’t expecting _that._

“Look! Alexander is happy to see you!” Deo announces as though I’m his damn dog wagging my tail. But Magnus is _really_ not happy. My husband rises like the tide and reels around to face Deo. Magical currents sizzle up and down his arms like he’s channeling an electrical storm.

“What did you do to him?” Magnus demands in his _‘I’m only going to ask you once’_ voice.

I stare at my sire, expecting him to look like he’s gonna bloodshit his toga— but .. . _no_. He’s _smiling_. Deo is looking at ‘The All-Powerful Magnus Bane’ as though _he_ were the adorable, happy dog.

“Let's start with efcharistó, yeah? A ‘thank you’ is in order, Magnus.” Deo waggles his finger, scolding the dog. “Where are your manners, _hmm_? After all, I’ve got your hubby primed and ready for your reunion. Alexander is hornier than you were after our tequila binge of 1953!”

 _Oh-the-fucking-pain!_ My groin must be on fire! And Magnus’ mouth can douse the flame, but instead he’s just standing there— watching me burn! The level of arousal has just catapulted beyond anything I’ve ever felt before. I want to beg Deo to _please_ just let Magnus fuck me! Or kill me! I don’t care which anymore!

THERE IS A VICE-GRIP ON MY BALLS! THIS JUST NEEDS TO END!

I can’t speak! I have no more bloody tears to cry, no more blood to vomit! I can’t even faint! Even the devil has turned a blind-eye to this fucked-up dimension of limbo.

_Jace. Jace. Jace._

I hear Deo and Magnus talking, but my brain barely registers their words. Words no longer matter. Actions are what I need. I will rip out my own dead kidneys, liver, heart and useless lungs if it means _just having one_ of my hands-free to relieve myself.

_Jace. Jace. Jace._

“Oh, come now, my sweet Magnus, don’t look at me like _that._ Your Alexander is stiffer than a two day old corpse. And, by the gods, he’s hotter than a funeral pyre. _Seriously,_ perfection! He looks fuckin’ photoshopped. He would have been worshiped as a god back in my day.”

“This is unnecessary—”

“Anoisíes, óchi! Oh, I think your body will disagree. _This is_ very necessary and you’ll thank me in a few minutes. _Alexander, tell him_.”

I don’t have the energy to form words, and yet Deo’s will drags them out of me.

“. . .I ne-ed you, Mag-nu-s . . . _please_. . . ” The pathetic plea dribbles from me like my bloody puke. “ . . . I. . . need . . .”

“Alexander, listen carefully now,” Deo’s voice is diplomatic, like he’s about to deliver unfavorable terms and _too-damn-bad_. “You are _not to move_ until Magnus makes you cum _very, very hard_. Got it?”

_Why hasn’t Magnus hurled Deo into a portal by now?! Or magic-kicked his ass?! Why didn’t he bring my parabatai with him?! Where is Jace?! Jace should be here! Jace would have saved me by now._

“ _Alexander_ , do you understand?” Deo demands compliance.

“ . . . yes . . .” And my mouth is compelled to comply, just like my body. I can not move _at all_ until Magnus makes me cum _very, very_ hard.

“Get out.” Magnus spits the words like bitters; his eyes are closed and his fists are trembling.

“ _Wha—?!_ And miss the hottest smut-show of the centu— _fine, fine_. Dammit.” Deo sounds like a kid whose first stele was stolen. “I’ll leave you two lovebats alone. I’ll return in a few minutes, _trust me_ Alexander won’t last longer than that.”

Magnus points to a security camera above Deo’s desk. “You won’t be watching through _that_ either.” With a nod Magnus cracks the surveillance device like an egg, spilling smoke and wires in lieu of shell and yolk.

And now my eyelids close like coffins and I’m not strong enough to pry them open. Darkness ravages my senses the way I _need_ Magnus to ravage my dick.

“Rude.” I can hear Deo hoax-huff. “That camera’s cost is coming out of Alexander’s salary.”

“Get out!”

“ _Fine_. And, Alexander, I’ll free you of your verbal filter for a while. This way you can call out your hubby’s name in ecstasy. Típota.”

“You sire-blocked him from speaking my name?”

“Not just yours, but, _whatever,_ he was annoying.”

“Get out, Deo, _please._ "

I don’t hear Deo move but I do hear the office door closing; and then I feel Magnus leaning over me. His hands reacquaint themselves with my face; clasping my cold, dead flesh like some heirloom he’s just dredged-up from the sea. His fingers don’t feel warm against my skin anymore, but they do feel familiar and . . . _good_. _Really, really good._ He’s paying homage to the wrong head.

I groan — sounding as desperate as I am— trying to communicate: PUT ME OUTTA MY MISERY!

“I’ve missed you so much, my darling.” Lips press against my brow; nose; right cheek. A pause. Fabric is on my mouth, wiping away the vomit residue. And then soft fabric is replaced by soft lips. “I love you,” Magnus breathes into my mouth. His breath feels cold like his touch. “I’m here. I’m going to get you through this, Alexander. I know this is difficult, but we’re together now. For the first time _ever,_ it’s finally just you and me.”

I can’t focus on Magnus’ words— they’re like an imploding game of Scrabble in my mind, just a bunch of letters that don’t make sense. I don’t want his words. I don’t want comfort. I want to cum! If I had a blood-pressure it would have spiked the roof like Zeus’ bolt! Magnus’ fingers curl through my hair and he rubs the strands as though testing the quality of silk. The sensation of him pulling—stroking—tugging my hair only serves to pull-stroke-tug on my sanity. I _need_ him to pull-stroke-tug my cock! 

Magnus’ heart beats fast and steady; and the rhythm taunts me, but not for a taste. Warlock blood is not appealing. Magnus has got demon blood, just like me. This taunting is _worse_ , the bodily goading of _‘neener-neener-fuck-you! I’m alive and you’re not.’_ And I want to punch that heartbeat in it’s heartbeat throat! But I’m a helpless-shit and I can’t even move my pinky until I cum like a good little Deo minion.

_Jace. Jace. Jace._

Magnus kisses me again, but this time the contact is curious. It’s like our lips are meeting for the first time and he’s trying to figure out how to please me. I know I taste like bloody bile, but he tastes me like I’m strawberry champagne. His kiss is gentle like a breeze -- lovingly batting the tree leaves, but will never blow them off the branch. He’s moving way too fucking slow! My husband is kissing me like we’re on a public date — he’s trying to make this into something romantic and it’s anything but.

I snarl and grimace like is hands are sunlight. “ . . . _no_ , d-don’t kiss me! Jerk me off or . . . suck me off. Just make me. . . _fucking cum already_.” It would be easier to crush rocks with my lips than form words. But I made my point as I feel him flinch like I’ve pelted him _with_ rocks. I pry my coffin-eyelids wide enough to see Magnus within this flashing-disco-reality.

Magnus’ eyes are dark as espresso shots and he looks like he just drank ninety of them. “You’re . . . you’re not yourself right now, Alexander.”

“No shit!” I spit nasty a wad of words, blood and bile. “I’m fucking dead, Magnus! And I’m going to implode and be _dead-dead_ if you don’t get me off right now!” Formulating coherent words was at a cost, for now those strobe lights are having a seizure of their own! I don’t know if I’m rightsize up or upside down, or if there is an earthquake, or if Zeus has thrown me into his god-blender again! _SHIT!_ If could move my hands I would jerk myself off and then smack my husband! _What doesn’t he understand?!_ I NEED HIM TO GET ME OFF!

Magnus makes an expression that I’ve never seen before. It’s like he’s thrown pity, pride and panic into a potion and choked it down.

My husband rolls up his sleeves as though he’s preparing to cook, but my meat is the only ingredient he’ll be working with and swallowing down. He kneels between my legs and flips my toga upward; revealing my bare, swollen cock. My cock is like a chained, starving prisoner— reaching upward, begging for release. And Magnus does something he’s done countless times before: his well-manicured hand grips ahold of me and- _oh-mercy-fuck-fuck-fuck-_ he compresses! Unlike my live cock, my undead one can _feel_ every line on his palm! The pores of his fingers are fucking pour _ing_ raw pleasure over my organ! Forget marble and diamond and tungsten, my dick has to be the _single hardest thing_ on planet earth.Through my vertigo I watch Magnus preparing to make ‘quick work’ of me. The suspense is _not enjoyable_ — it’s like being stabbed and waiting for someone to _just_ yank out the blade already!

Magnus lowers his head but hesitates, looking up at me through dark lashes. “Are you ready?”

“. . . now . . .” I sound like I’m dying. _Again._

“The sensation will be potent, so I’ll make this quick.” His breath on my cock causes my head to snap backward like I’ve been smacked with a gale force wind! This wind _will_ blow the leaves off of the branches _and_ uproot the fucking tree! I shudder! I cry out! And then Magnus’ wet tongue is on me — hesitant at first, testing my new undead flavor— but he must have liked the sample because he throats my entire dick. Suffocating my cock in _tight-wet-sucking-bliss_. While one hand steadies the base of my cock, the other slides under my ballsack like a sex-spatula and — _oh-mercy-fuck_ — I’ve missed these magical fingers! He’s vibrating my balls with _just-the-purr_ of an energy pulse!

I can’t open my eyes. I can only tremble. _I can only feel._ All I feel is him. He’s _so-fucking-skilled_ at what he’s doing! One hand works my balls; one hand works my cock and Magnus sucks me like he’s trying to draw my brain out through the organ — I hope he does! The pressure! I hit the back of his throat once —MERCY— twice—- MERCY — _and that’s all it takes._

My orgasm is a blissful catastrophe. Pleasure on a level that I didn’t even know was achievable. It certainly never was for my mortal body, but my immortal one is capable of experiencing whatever-rapturous-hell _this is_. The relief is immediate, like a tourniquet had been strapped around my cock and suddenly the band was cut. My body shakes so hard I’m amazed my bones don’t fracture. I think it’s Deo’s will alone that’s keeping me from physically shattering.

The fruits of Magnus' labor have filled his mouth, and like the gentleman he is, my husband swallows it right down. Magnus is no nonsense, no mess. He looks up at me —a panting, beautiful mess — eyes watering from the effort to choke down my size. And then he stands with the elegance of someone who was performing a respectful curtsy to a king, not kneeling to suck vampire cock.

I came _very_ _very hard_ as my sire commanded. My body is released from his hold. My legs cramp and I lurch forward; my own knees getting aquatinted with the carpet. I dig my fingers into the rug like it’s the dirt from my grave; holding tight as the haze of arousal clears.

There never was a strobe-light.

The glow of the oil lamp shines a spotlight on reality.

Realization replaces lust.

I don’t trust my legs to hold me up. I can either lean back against the couch or lean forward into my husband.

I give my trust to the couch and my husband gets my ire. I’m spraying a special brand of visual-moody-acid and he winces at the burn.

“Magnus, you need to kill Deo. Kill him.”

Magnus crouches so that we are eye-level; his expression is as unreadable to me as his grimoire. “I can’t.”

My fangs bare themselves and I hiss like the monster I am. “You _can’t_? Or you _won’t_?”

Magnus doesn’t flinch at my fangs, he only sighs. “Both. I can’t. And even if I could, I would _never_ harm Deo.”

“He killed me!”

“I know.” Magnus states _so simply;_ and then he reaches forward to caress my face. I block like he’s thrown a punch and my vampire strength nearly knocks him on his ass. But Magnus has the reflexes of a panther and remains upright. “Alexander, _listen to me_ , I understand that vampirism is devastating for you _right now,_ but one day it won’t be."

“ _What?!”_ Emotion claws up my throat like a panther — a demonic one! It actually hurts to scream _this loud!_ I wish my word-panther could grab my husband and shake him! “What the hell is going on?! Aren’t you even upset? Deo killed me! I was murdered!”

Magnus runs a hand through his perfect hair. He’s hesitating, choosing his words like they are volatile ingredients for a critical spell. “I’m livid that he put you into _this_ state for me to find you in.”

“The state of being _dead_?!”

“I knew I would find you as a vampire, Alexander. But I didn’t expect him to make you helpless and aroused out-of-your mind. But knowing Deo, I shouldn’t have been surprised. He meant well in his own distorted way. He thought that he was presenting you to me the way I’d want you.” Magnus shakes his head, but I’m not sure if he’s irked with Deo or with himself. “He hasn’t _touched you_ has he?”

I pound my fists backward and the couch collapses. “ _Touched_ me— _whaaa_? He _fucking_ killed me! He turned me into _this_ monster!” I turn and punch the couch again, the entire thing tips like a seesaw.

Magnus is not phased by my couch smashing. “I mean sexually.” He clarifies calmly. “He hasn’t forced you to _do_ anything with him, has he?”

“No. Deo treats me like I’m his little Ken doll slave, but he hasn’t _touched me._ Though I wish to the ange— _dammit!_ _I wish to the devil_ that he had! I wish he’d just molested my living body and then let me LIVE!” I rip out a chunk of Deo’s carpet and throw it at Magnus, well-knowing he’ll vaporize it before it hits him. Which he does. “What Deo did to me was worse: I’m a vampire! Even if you can’t kill him, I don’t understand why you’re not blasting him into a portal!? I don’t know why we’re even still here? Why haven’t you portaled us home already? You need to take me back to Jace! I can’t endure another moment without him! What’s happened to him? Why isn’t he here — rescuing me with you?”

I only see Magnus' cat-eyes when he’s horny or when he’s pissed. And those amber-silted orbs make an appearance now. Magnus’ entire frame stiffens as though _he were_ the corpse in the room. _Oh, yeah_ , he’s pissed.

A true magnet to angst Deo enters the room. My sire is strutting as though he were a courting peacock looking for a threesome.

“Kalinychta! Syngnómi gia tin kathystérisi!” Deo prattles on in greek and Magnus nods, but I don’t understand him. Then Deo shifts his sight onto me and his words into english. "That couch is coming out of your salary also, but that aside, congratulations! You look positively radiant, Alexander! Magnus is still quite the sword swallower, yeah?” He winks at Magnus and my husband’s eyes pop like he’s been gutted _with_ a sword. “Hey, keep this in mind for the future: anytime you want Alexander to pick up that toga skirt you just need to feed him a shot of nephilim. It’s an immediate aphrodisiac.” 

My legs are no longer frail, they’re furious! I bolt to my feet, charging Deo like a lightning strike! I want to knock his fangs onto the dance floor!

“You fed me nephilim blood?! I’m a cannibal!” I throw a punch but Deo holds up his hand and— _just like that —_ I’m still as real death.

 _Nephilim blood!_ I want to vomit again and I’m thankful that I already expelled some of it!

Deo eyes me with blatant irritation. “Oh, anóitos! Calm down, Alexander. The donor was no one that you knew. It’s all a business arrangement. I have plenty of Shadowhunter business partners. It’s no big deal. And you’re not a cannibal, you _stupid beautiful boy_ , you’re a vampire now.” 

“Deo?” Magnus lays an _all-too-tender_ hand on my sire’s shoulder. The ancient vampire turns to face the warlock and they exchange a look that I can’t understand. “Might Alexander and I have a private moment? I need to discuss _everything_ with him.”

“Anoisía, Magnus. How foolish.” My sire scolds Magnus like he’s confused a seelie with a werwolf. But then Deo’s vexation melts and . . . he strokes my husband’s cheek _like I would;_ and like he’s done it a million times before . . . even more times than I have. I know that Deo and Magnus shared a romantic past. I’d assumed it was a casual fling, but now I’m not so sure. I know all-too-well the effects of Deo’s depraved hands, and if I wasn’t sire-glued in place I would rip them off!

“Just enjoy him.” Deo continues both his touchy-words and touchy-touches. “Alexander is as moody as the sea. I’ll bet he can hold a grudge for hundreds of years, if not longer. So, don’t roll those dice. Just come here whenever you’d like and enjoy a conjugal visit, yeah? And when Mr. Moody is ready and able to function in society I’ll give him back to you. But that’s not going to be for a _long_ time. When he drinks he’s got absolutely _no_ self-control. Not yet. I’d estimate a century, _at least_ , before he’s where you want him to be.”

“ _Fuck you!_ I might be frozen in place, but I can hear you!” I’m yelling as loud as my dead body can yell. “What’s going on here? I’m not some damn business transaction. _Magnus, talk to me_!”

My sight searches for my husbands, but his attention is as fixed on Deo as my sandals are in place. _Why isn’t he looking at me?! What’s happening?!_

Deo groans rudely and _finally_ takes his hands off of my husband. “Don’t do it, Magnus,” he cautions, “just come here when you want snuggly-time or sexy-time and I’ll make sure he’s ready every time; but he’s not ready to hear the truth anymore than he is to function out in the world. Alexander is doing well under my charge. He’s an excellent worker. He’s thriving on my schedule and with my training. But he _can not_ deviate from it. If he does he’ll be a danger to himself and everyone around him, including you. It’s unacceptable. I won’t allow it and I’ll have to put him down.”

Magnus’ faces me. His pupils are blown _so wide_ that his eyes match his hair. He’s . . . nervous.

“Magnus!” I cry his name like I’m begging for Jace’s life, well, in a way _I am._ “Magnus, _please,_ you need to take me home! I need to get back to Jace!”

Deo gags as though _he’s_ been throating my dick. “Friktós! Oh, by Zeus! I loosen his verbal latch for a few minutes and _here he goes again!_ Always going on about Jace! By the gods, he’s absolutely obsessed with him. Did I tell you about that whole ‘favorite face’ thing?”

“Yes, you told me.”

“The two of them are sickening. Parabatai puke! I should’ve killed that hunky blonde back in Vermont. As long as Jace lives _this one’s_ not going to stop pining for him.”

He just- _fucking_ -threatened my parabatai! MY JACE! A kaleidoscope of gore blurs my vision — my own enraged-frustrated-I’m-going-to-blow-up-the-world bloody tears!

“SHUT UP! You _do not_ threaten Jace!” If my lungs could blow, they would! Hellfire Homer can probably hear me screaming over his music. “If you _even think_ about hurting him I’ll rip you—” Deo raises a finger and I’m silenced.

“See?!” Deo throws up his hands like he’s part of a crowd wave. “Another reason why you can’t take him home. Reunite those two and you’ll be right back to where you were. Well, of course Alexander will remain perfection forever — _you’re welcome_ — but, emotionally _you’ll_ be right back to where _you were._ You’ll be the second place, second choice, second best, blah, blah, blah. Unless you want me to go and kill Jace? I’ll do it gladly, well, for small fee, of course. I believe you’re still hoarding my Hermes statue in one of your homes? I’d love to get that back.”

Magnus looks paler than me. My husbands’ sight swings toward me, gauging my reaction and . . . that swinging sight slams me like a wrecking ball— _no,_ not just one, but like thousands of them at once with spikes welded onto their balls! The wrecking balls pulverize what’s left of my dead heart until I’m nothing.

 _No,_ not nothing . . . _there is still Jace._

Deo shoos me as though I were a pesky fly. I stagger backward and my ass revisits the same couch cushion. Only I’m lopsided due to the broken state of the couch . . . _broken, broken, broken,_ just like me.

I knew Magnus was dressed to slay hearts, I just didn’t realize mine would be the victim.

Magnus falls to his knees in front of me again, but not to pleasure me. He looks like a beggar, the best-dressed beggar I’ve ever seen. His fingers grasp my hands — gripping like he’s terrified to let me go — grabbing me like I’m running headfirst into the sunrise and he’s trying to hold me back.

“Alexander, _please_ , stay calm _._ You know I always have our best interests at heart, and you need to hear me out before you catastrophize. _”_ Though Magnus’ words are composed, his body trembles as though the ground beneath him were caving in. _“I love you._ I need to go through time with you by my side. No one else. And ‘mortal you' was dying on me, little bit by little bit, every single day — a grey hair here, a stiff knee there. Every time you left on a hunt . . . it was unbearable knowing that it could be the last one. That someday some demon would get lucky. And as you continued to age the demon’s odds increased. Alexander, I can’t live without you. And I also can’t live _with you,_ just watching you wither, age and become more vulnerable. You don’t yet understand what wonders this new vampire life has to offer you. I didn’t have you turned into ‘just any vampire’ by ‘just any vampire’. With Deo’s ancient blood and training you will be stronger, faster and more impenetrable than you can even imagine. Your mortal body was like glass, now you’re like a god.”

Deo laughs like a demon. “Well, bats outta the bag now, yeah? I find this entire scenario very entertaining. Alexander, your husband had you _murdered_ because he _couldn’t live without you!_ It’s epic poetry. Homer and Shakespeare could not have done better, and I would know, I was besties with both of them for —“

“Deo, please stop.” Magnus’ voice is so faint my vampire ears barely catch it.

“No . . . this-this can’t be . . . right.” The words stick in my mouth like taffy, I can barely dislodge them. “Why-why now?”

“Duh,” Deo answers for Magnus, “because you are as perfect now as you ever will be. Best time to bust out the eternal formaldehyde!”

“I . . . don’t understand . . . Magnus?” I look down at my husband’s beautiful face — the face I _love so much._ The face would have loved and cherished and protected with _every ounce of strength_ my mortal body had. Magnus gazes up at me as though I’m a religious idol and he’s made a lofty prayer. He’s not even breathing; he’s suffocated by the suspense of his prayer’s fate. “Magnus, _why?_ What does Deo have on you? You wouldn’t _do_ this to me— to my family! Is-is he blackmailing you? He has something on you, right? You didn’t have a choice!”

My voice shatters Magnus’ eyes like crystal, liquid splinters stick in his lashes. “Deo holds more over me than you could _ever imagine_ , but . . . not the way that you think.”

“Then tell me! Because I can’t believe that you would _do this to me._ That you could be so selfish! _Please, please_ talk to me.”

“There’s always ‘more to every story’, Alexander.” Deo offers words I don’t want. “But just like some of the greatest greek stories, some tales are better lost to history, yeah?”

I snub my sire and continue eroding my husbands resolve. “Magnus! Come on! _I’m your husband._ You vowed to protect me, to be honest with me! I didn’t deserve to be murdered. You know that I _never_ wanted to be immortal. We’ve talked about this! _Quality of years over quantity_ , remember? We’ve always agreed on this! Dammit! _Please,_ tell me why you did this. There has to be a better reason!”

“Alexander . . .” Magnus exhales my name like it’s smoke clogging his lungs.

“Don’t tell him anything more,” Deo interjects with his unwanted advice, _again._ “You’ll only make things worse.”

Magnus dabs at his eyes, his sparkly sleeve soaks any tears before they can stain his cheeks with black liner. “You’re right.” He agrees with Deo.

Dozens of questions swarm me, stinging me worse than a hive of demonic bees. But the most vital question bursts forth: “How could you do this to Jace?!”

Magnus looks up at me through a haze of heat. If he hadn’t wiped his tears away they would have evaporated. “I care deeply for Jace and I shared you with him while you were mortal. However, I’m not going to share you with him anymore. The Clave’s antiquated ‘parabatai brain-washing’ tells you that ‘Jace makes you stronger’, but in reality, Jace makes you weak. Your bond was a noose around your neck. With him you’ve always been weaker than glass, you’ve been cracked glass, and he’s been the hammer _tap-tap-taping_ at you. How many times did you almost perish because of your bond? Because your souls were tacked together by power-hungry Clave magic? They turned children into their weapons. You were just an innocent child when they bonded you, Alexander. It was inhumane to strap your soul to Jace’s. You didn’t yet know who you were as an individual — you were innocent. You were just learning how to live— and they robbed you both of any independence. They cursed you with the ball-and-chain of being parabatai. But you are free from that now. And overtime your obsession with Jace will fade, and then you can finally discover who _you are,_ my darling.” Magnus nods conclusively.

“How long have you felt this way?! Resented our parabatai bond?! You—you HURT Jace! He’s ruined now! He’s devastated!”

“Alexander, I never wanted to hurt Jace.” Magnus sounds so sincere and I want to vomit until there’s nothing left inside me. “Please understand that he had to see you die so that he would _believe_ that you were dead and move on with his life. Short-term misery, long-term mercy. And now you and I can move on with ours _.”_

“But that backfired? Didn’t it?” I say because I damn-well know it. “Jace still feels me like I still feel him. You killed my body, but you didn’t kill our bond. And you didn’t expect that? _Did you?!_ Either of you?” I’m spitting demonic bees with every word and I hope Deo and Magnus feel the stinging truth! “Jace hasn’t given up on me. He’s searching for me. You thought if you killed me _right before_ his wedding that he would ‘feel obligated’ to go through with it, marry Clary without his parabatai by his side and move on. But I bet he didn’t even get married, did he? I bet he refused because he can’t even function without me.” I hurl a mega-watt-bee-sting-glare at Deo. “I don’t belong to you!” Magnus gets the queen bee. “Or you! I only belong to Jace. I’ve only _ever_ belonged to Jace. Our bond was never a noose, it’s was my life-preserver, my sanity-preserver — it still is! He’s the only reason I haven’t thrown myself into the sunlight—”

“Actually, no." Deo is worse than Simon! _He just can't stay quiet!_ "That's me. I wouldn’t let you do that. I like my euro-bills crispy, not my men.” 

“Jace is the only reason _I don’t want_ to burn!" I hope the truth burns them both. I see Magnus wince, but Deo has apparently slathered himself in verbal sunblock. My sire is beaming like the damn sun! I clench my jaw; steady my voice and continue frying them anyway: "You underestimated both of us and our bond. And you should both start shitting your pants because, when Jace finds me — _when he finds out what you did_ — you two are fucked.”

Deo laughs so hard he might bloody-shit himself. “Oh, please, óchi! That little angel was hardly threatening on his knees as he watched you die. He imposes about as much threat to Magnus and me as a mosquito does to diamonds.”

But Magnus doesn’t look as smug as Deo. He knows what Jace and his pure angel blood are capable of. He knows that my parabatai is more powerful than any Shadowhunter walking the earth today. And when Jace goes golden he can send a greater demon back to hell. Unfortunately, he needs Clary’s pure angel blood around in order to activate his ‘golden mode’; but my redheaded friend is going to be mighty pissed off too. After all, these two ruined her wedding. It will be seraph blades, not paintbrushes, which meet their assholes.

Well, at least Deo’s asshole. I won’t allow anyone to harm Magnus. _I can’t._ Despite what he’s done _I can’t stand the thought of him being harmed_ because I’m a pathetic —

“Alexander," Magnus releases his grip on me and rises with the grace of the moon. “I don’t regret having you turned, though I am sorry that you can’t see your family right now. But, if you garner control of yourself over their lifetime, you will certainly be reunited. I am mourning the time we are losing while you learn to accept your new life and forgive me. And you may remain upset for months or years or even centuries to come. But eventually you’re going to forgive me. And I’m willing to wait for as long as it takes. And when that happens we’ll have all of eternity to spend together. Until then, you have to stay with Deo. He will protect you, train you and prepare you for this new life. And I’ll come to visit you again when you’re ready.” Magnus looks at Deo like he alone controls the Shadow World’s fate, “please, _remember what you promised me.”_

Deo bows with dramatic flare. “You still have my word, Magnus. And if you want to come by for a conjugal visit I’ll have Alexander ready for you. Even if he’s in a pissy mood, that nephilim blood will . . .” Magnus makes a face that makes Deo alter course.“ . . . _er_ , well, if you don’t want him, you know my ass is always open.”

Magnus disregards Deo’s comment; instead he leans down like he’s going to kiss my head, but he doesn’t get the chance. I’m on my feet and I shove him! My palms push against his pectorals like he’s a boulder rolling the wrong way! Magnus gasps, stumbling backward like a boulder actually struck him. But ‘The Deo Express’ appears behind Magnus, catching him in his arms, and earning a hybrid look of appreciation and anger. Neither Magnus or I realized that Deo had slackened my leash until I unleashed myself.

“You could have warned me.” Magnus chides Deo, who looks delighted to have my husband in his arms. Magnus is quick to regain his footing, but not his composure. The pain from my shove is nothing compared with the pain in my eyes.

Magnus _does_ love me and I hate myself. I hate myself because I’m pathetic. I hate myself because _I still love him too_. I already know that I will forgive Magnus one day — no, _hell_ , I forgive him already. I forgive him because he loves me _so much_ that he can’t stand to lose me. I forgive him because I know what it’s like to feel _that way_ about someone else. To be _s_ cared-shitless that this someone could leave you -- just vanish forever-- and without any warning at all. I know what it's like to love someone and want someone and need someone _so desperately_ that you’d do _fucking anything_ just to keep them for one more second — one more hour —one more day — month — year— _forever._

I just don’t feel that way about him.

_Jace. Jace. Jace._

And while I forgive Magnus for having me killed, I can’t forgive him for what he’s done to Max, Izzy, my parents and especially to Jace. My parabatai had to suffer my death — something he should never have had to suffer. If the situation was reversed: it is something that I could never suffer.

Because I do love Magnus, I tell him so. I tell him what he hopes to hear _and_ what he doesn’t.

“I do love you, Magnus, y-you know t-tha-t I-I do.” The words fracture upon my lips; giving them voice is like chewing glass, but I power-through. “And I-I forgive you for what you did to me. But I will _never_ forgive you for what you did to Jace.”

Magnus takes my words like a punch he’d braced for, barely wincing.

“And if Jace shows up?” Deo asks. My sire’s pitiless silver sight sweeps over me, collecting all the glass I’ve chewed and spit out. “What will you have me do?”

“Forget about Jace. Both of you. He can’t even walk. I told him that I was coming to Athens—”

“Any _why-why-why_ would you do that?” Deo physically swats the air around Magnus’ head as though his words were pesky gnats he can banish.

“ _Because_ I infused a Repulsion Spell into the word ‘Athens’.” Magnus explains as he creates a portal. “Jace will be inherently repulsed by the word and any mention of the city, or thought of traveling here, will make him physically ill. Additionally, I’ve woven a powerful Persuasion Spell into the very tale of Alexander’s death.”

“Oh, yes! Ekpliktikós!” Deo trots about on his tippy-toes, offering Magnus applause. “That was a spectacular tale indeed! Ekpliktikós! I nearly busted a gut when the rumor reached me. Alexander being dissected and his bits sold on the Black Market . . . _brilliant, Magnus._ It’s so dark and twisted. I didn’t know you had such creativity in you — then again, you’ve had _me_ _in you_ enough times to let my brilliance _rub off, leak out._ Anyway, I’m impressed.”

Magnus makes a face like Clary already crammed a sharp-object up his rear. “Ah, yes, in any event the Persuasion Spell guarantees that _everyone_ who hears the tale will believe it, no questions asked.”

“Everyone but Jace.” Those three words are so salted and bitter they’re a relief to spit.

"Goodbye, Alexander. Antio sas, Deo." I see feline eyes before the whooshing darkness swallows Magnus.

There are skeletons rotting in Magnus’ and Deo’s walk-in closet and it needs some fucking potpourri. The stench of deceitful-decay nearly makes me wretch. Magnus was holding back; Deo was holding him back . . . _but why? No one holds Magnus back . . ._ what do those two mean to each other? What did their past entail? Magnus wasn’t afraid of Deo, in fact he . . . seemed to revere him. _I need to know,_ and at the same time, I realize that I may never fully learn why my husband betrayed me. I _believe_ all of the murder motives Magnus gave me. I believe that he genuinely wanted me to become an immortal vampire. But _wanting_ me to be immortal and actually _having me killed_ are not even in the same league of evil. . . or maybe they are and I’m just so nauseated from the reeking rot that I’m in denial?

 _Shit._

This really happened. Magnus had me . . . _he had me killed_. He really made Jace watch me die. He tortured Jace! HE IS TORTURING JACE NOW! He really laced a spell into words so that my family and friends wouldn’t look for me. Everyone thinks I’m dead-dead. I’m trapped here. I’m Deo’s puppet. I can’t escape him. The walls are closing in around me! My skull is caving in! My own mind is a trash compactor — crushing me like the monstrous garbage I am.

_Jace. Jace. Jace._

Crimson blurs my vision again and it takes _everything_ not to cry.

The life I knew is shattered into a million fragments on the carpet. And then those fragments have been stomped on with stone clogs and ground down until only a finite powder remains. And that powder? I’m guessing Deo will snort it like cocaine.

“Fovero! That was amazing!” Deo presents me with a standing ovation, like I’ve just recited ‘The Odyssey’ line-for-line. “The drama! The angst! The betrayal! The x-rated vampire-warlock blow job! _Yes_ , I was watching. Guilty! My statues have eyes, haha!” He points at one of his marble Deo replicas, and it’s now obvious that they are devices to record every angle of his nightly ‘sexcapades’. “Ah, well, back to work, shall we? You’re still on the clock for another—”

“Magnus said that Jace can’t walk. He needs me! Deo, _please, I’m begging you,_ _please_ let me contact my paraba—”

“Ochi!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! Oh, the drama! This chapter was a doozy to write . . . gahhhh!! (I always wanted to use the word 'doozy', so thanks) If you like this story and wanna read onward then please lemme know with a comment. There are many twists, turns and sexy scenes ahead, so please keep pumping me with the motivation to write them. THANK YOU SOOO MUCH for reading! Please be well, Maia's Pen


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dropping *double the chapters* tonight! Chapter 6 and Chapter 7.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Maia's Pen

Chapter 6

(Jace)

So _this_ is what mundane ‘jet lag’ feels like. It sucks. Even with my stamina rune activated I’m tired, dehydrated, stiff and cranky. So basically like Clary if my alarm wakes her up too early. But I’d rather endure a lifetime of ‘the jet lag feels’ than suffer one more second without Alec. Eternal ‘jet lag’ sounds like a fuckin’ paradise getaway from my circle-of-Alecless-hell. The devil here incessantly stabs the shit out of my heart and brain with his pitchfork. And every-so-often the bastard rams a hot poker up my ass too, just to drive home his point (pun intended) that I’d be better off gone. But the only place I’m going is where my parabatai is. _Which_ , I believe, is _right here_ in Athens.

The flight from New York to Paris was almost eight hours. The flight from Paris to Athens was over three hours. The metro ride from the airport to the city center was forty minutes. Both fights were full and the metro was packed like the New York subway at rush hour. I was squashed between two old dudes who smelled like onions. And not _‘oh, yum! Onions on a salad would be nice’._ I’m talkin’ like _‘oh, you haven’t bathed in weeks and live in a sauna’_ onion stench _._ Any nose hairs I had were certainly vaporized. But I’d rather be crammed between 'the onion bro' forever than bear another moment without my parabatai, who —for the record — has excellent hygiene.

Alec’s scent is my favorite scent in the world. If I could bottle ‘Eau de Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane’ and douse myself in him I would. But that won’t be necessary as I’ll have the real deal back soon. Then I can just lean in and take a hit-o-Alec anytime I want. Which will be often . . . like, once a minute. Alec will be cool with it. He’ll find comfort in my scent too, and he’ll want to —no, he’ll _need to —_ inhale me. We are _wayyyy_ beyond the old ‘honeybee to flower’; ‘moth to flame’; ‘bird to sky’ primordial pull. Our need for one another isn’t just hardwired into our biological DNA — it _is_ our DNA, it’s _us—_ the compulsion of our very souls.

Since Alec died my primordial pull for him has evolved. It’s launched from ‘earthy-level obsession’ to ‘outta this world-galaxy-universe-level obsession’. I need him more _right now_ than I EVER have before. He is the composition of my consciousness. I can’t even think a single thought that isn’t Alec.

I’ve cognitively derailed again . . .

It’s taking a conscious effort to keep my own ‘mental metro’ on the tracks— _shit!_ I stumble on the sidewalk, nearly tongue-kissing a mailbox. _Stupid-worthless-fucked-up right foot!_ The stumble sobers my focus like a mega-dose of Adderall. As I was an invisible stowaway, I had to stand the entire travel time (that’s right: both flights and the metro). My right foot is about as happy as my nostrils.

My broken foot is whole once more, but it’s as reliable as a tire with a hole. Too much use and it swells bee-sting style. Hence I’m currently limping down the streets of Athens. An iratze helps to dull the pain, but I was advised against over-using the rune. The damage to my foot is structural and the micro-fractures need time to heal properly on their own. At least that’s what the medic told me. I told him that _‘my foot just isn’t used to supporting my muscular frame again yet_ ’. The medic also suggested that I use a cane. I told him if he gave me a cane I’d beat him with it. I’m not a pussy and neither is my foot. It’ll toughen-up faster if I use it.

It’s 8:32PM and Athens is hotter than a demon’s ass crack. Stepping from the air-conditioned metro was like having said sweaty-crack sit on my face. I shrug-off my leather jacket and stuff it into my backpack. Fortunately I packed light: a few toiletries and some underwear. I’ll snag clothing as needed but, with any luck, I’ll find Alec tonight and we’ll be high-tailing it home before sunrise.

I can’t wait to hold him. Feel him. Hear him. Smell him— _okay,_ this is me steering myself from derailment.

Anyway, my parabatai will smell a lot better than this thick-humid-piss air that’s tormenting my nostrils now. It’s amazing how a city _across the world_ has the same urine essence as home. My nose just can’t catch a break!

Piss-air aside, Athens is nothing like New York City. As I’m glamoured I haven’t interacted with anyone, but the exchanges I’ve witness have all been, well, _nice._ The greek people are welcoming, hospitable and seem happy to direct a lost-looking tourist in the right direction. New Yorkers are nice too, but we’re innately impatient, which often comes across as rude. Athens streets are narrow— I’m surprised two cars can even pass each other — and most of the buildings are no higher than a tall tree. Where New York has an impressive rodent population, Athens is crawling with cats. Seriously, there are more felines wandering the streets than tourists. New York is modern and she never sleeps. The glittering skyscrapers eclipse the stars. But Athens is old . . . _like really old._ She makes Magnus look like an infant. Her history is thicker than the humid air and is as inescapable.

Back home there is a Starbucks around every corner; here there are ancient ruins. The Starbucks are _in-your-face_ making you incessantly crave caffeine; and their shops were added _into_ the city over time. These ruins are far more subtle, the entire city was erected around _them,_ not the other way around. While the crumbling structures don’t tantalize my tastebuds (that’d be some weird-fucking-pica), they do tantalize my curiosity. There are memories built into the marble columns— many that written word failed to pass on. The column cracks seem to whisper at me as I pass — pleading with me to pause and listen to their lost stories, to hear about the history only they have seen. But my ‘Rosetta Stone app’ doesn’t offer a ‘learn to speak stone’ option. And, even if it did, I’m physically unable to stop moving. Even my busted-foot won’t let me halt. The fractured bits of bone are as compelled to find Alec as the fractured bits of my soul are.

“I’ll come back and visit, okay?” I assure the next cracking column as though it were an old friend. “I’ll bring Alec.” His name on my lips make me crack too, a smile first and then a few tears.

When Alec and I were kids we used to daydream about exploring the famous cities on earth. _But,_ then the Shadow World consumed all of our time and the mundane world was put on the back burner. I wish we’d made the time now. I always thought we’d have so much time . . . but Death obviously isn’t a well-mannered greek. Death is probably a New Yorker — he just turns up without any notice and _BOOM —_ it’s all over and your unchecked bucket-list remains forever unchecked. But Alec and I _will_ get our second chance to travel. We’ll just have to do it during the twilight hours, and that’s fine by me as long as we are together. I’d rather hold Alec upright in some dark, freezing igloo while he pukes into a toilet than bask in tropical rays while sipping fancy cocktails with Clary. My fiancée knows this and she still wants me. I’m not sure if that makes me pathetic? Or her? I guess it just proves that Clary is the only woman for me.

Searching for Alec is a mapless journey. My compass is raw intuition. I’ve felt like a wingless bird for six weeks, but the moment I stepped off of that metro it was like my feather-stubs were _just_ starting to grow back. Alec is _somewhere_ in this city, and my only potential lead is that he’s connected to some nightclub.

_Okay,_ I’m dripping sweat. If it’s demon’s-ass-crack-level hot now, then how hot is it going to be in the daytime?

I check my phone.

_Damn_. Tomorrow the temps are peaking at over one-hundred degrees with clothes-soaking humidity. So it’ll be like crawling inside the demon’s actual asshole while he lays on a funeral pyre, located on a volcano which is sprouting from the surface of the sun. I may need to trade my jacket in for one of those togas.It’s nearly June and I’d hate to visit Athens in August. But I’d rather sprint through Athens in August wearing a snowsuit than endure _one more nano-second without Alec._

My parabatai died six weeks ago. I spent the first three in my ‘anti-suicide coma’; the next one awake and with my foot in the ‘limbo sling’; and then the most recent two being suffocated by Magnus’ incessant doting and being berated by The Clave. I was forced to undergo an extensive psychological screening to ensure that I was not suicidal.

Everyone is convinced that Alec is dead-dead. They’ve all just accepted his termination like a bad weather report. And it became apparent to me _very quickly_ that if I didn’t ‘play along’ then The Clave was never going to sign me off as ‘mentally stable’. _And_ that Magnus was never going to stop hovering over me like an overbearing-mother-in-law-from-hell. So I took one for ‘Team Parabatai’ and I joined in on the fucked-up mourning Alec trend. Saying out loud ‘I accept that Alec is gone’ was worse than swallowing my own vomit after eating bad seafood, but I did it. I did it for _us._ I convinced everyone — the bigwig Clave officials, Magnus, Izzy, and even Clary. I said that I needed to take some personal leave time to ‘properly mourn Alec’; that I needed to clear my head before my wedding, which was rescheduled for July 1.

My willingness to set a new wedding date put them all at ease, especially Magnus. The warlock took-off with his party planning preparations like a rocket fueled by cotton candy and crack.

I said that I wanted to spend a week in Paris, just meandering the streets and stuffing my face with croissants. Clary was worried and wanted to come with me, of course, and I had to play the proper fiancé — watch her paint, have a dinner date and then fuck her senseless— to convince her that I was _truly_ okay. That I could travel solo like a big boy. All three of these activities should have been enjoyable, especially the sex. But I had a really hard time ( _well, the opposite really_ ) gearing-up for our impending intimacy. I finally understand how vampires feel when offered mundane food— they are repulsed; they cannot physically eat it; they only want blood. Well, my body doesn’t want to be close to anyone but Alec. But I ordered my cock to ‘man-the-fuck-up’ and my cock did just that. Well, I _did_ Clary. And what motivated my cock to stay hard was thinking about Alec and— _okay_ , I realize now that this seems beyond gay —but it’s not like that. Not at all! I mean, I don’t know how to even explain this to myself. I just love Alec so fucking much! And I just need to be with him! And as close to him as possible _and—_ anxiety is asphyxiating me because I don’t know if it’s even possible to hold him close enough or tight enough or. . .

_Fuck . . ._

I love Clary and I love having sex with Clary.Everything inside me is just short-circuiting and frying like Zeus has struck me full-force with his lightning bolt. But once Alec is back my biological urges will surely rewire themselves to normal. I’m counting on that.

I fully intend to be back in New York ASAP _and_ to marry Clary on July 1. But both are happening with Alec at my side. Everyone’s gonna be scarfing down humble pie (worse than seafood vomit) when Alec and I strut into The Institute together. _I can’t wait._

Portaling to Paris would have been a mercy for my foot. But I refused any magical transport. I said that I wanted to experience travel the ‘mundane way’, but I really just wanted to keep Magnus a- _way_. Everyone believes that I’m in Paris right now. I left an enchanted tracking talisman in my Air BnB. The talisman was a gift from a former warlock-lover who owed me big time. The token has been ‘magically enhanced’ to give off a stronger ‘Jace signal’ then I will. Therefore, _if_ I’m tracked, the signal will overshadow my actual location and confirm that I am indeed in Paris. It will only work for a week. But I’m finding Alec tonight, _dammit,_ which brings me back to my only clue: a nightclub.

Three weeks ago ‘Magnus McSketchy’ went to Athens. He went for some ‘warlock business’, but he was there and back in the span of an hour. Upon return he looked like he’d lost his magic _again_ . . . just . . . sickly and lost. So he’d either had a traumatic experience or he’d been stuck on the metro with the onion bros. His demeanor gave me the heebie-jeebies and, considering my life experiences, that is saying something.

Magnus’ would not leave me alone! In a nutshell: he was acting nuttier than squirrel shit. He spent hours visiting me in the sick ward, just ranting about how ‘awful’ Athens was. And raving about how none of us should _ever_ visit or we’d regret it. The warlock specifically prattled on-and-on-and- _onnnnnnnn_ about how terrible the nightclubs were — to the point that he was like a song stuck on repeat! HE WOULD NOT STOP until Clary, Simon, Izzy and I agreed with him. Clary, Simon and Izzy were totally put-off by the _mere inkling_ of _ever_ visiting any nightclub in Athens. Simon then proclaimed that blood from greek mundanes tasted the worst. Clary announced that she would never _even paint_ any greek architecture. And Izzy vowed to never eat greek food again. Simon has never been a picky drinker; Clary adores greek art and Izzy loves gyros. . . _like,_ gyros are her favorite food ever . . . _suspicious much?_

_So_ I decided to conduct a little experiment.

Since I’d already choked down the ‘Alec is dead’ vomit, this anti-Athens pill would be as easy as gulping a latte. I said _‘wow, Magnus, greek nightclubs sound like the absolute worst! I’d rather stick my dick in a piranha’s mouth than ever visit Athens’,_ and _just like that_ he changed topics. Magnus hasn’t even brought up Greece again. _Hell,_ if I hadn’t agreed with him he’d probably _still_ be verbalizing his endless 1-star yelp review.

But, even after Magnus shut up about Athens, he was still hovering over me like a swarm of gnats! He shooed my medics away like _they_ were the gnats and insisted on personally attending to all of my ‘foot-healing needs’. The warlock conjured me up some feather pillows (and even fluffed them). He tucked me into bed at night and read me _anything_ I asked for (I requested ‘Stamp Collecting for Dummies’ and he read it!). He sang to me, taking requests like a jukebox (he knows every Backstreet Boy song!). He massaged my neck, my back, my legs. He poured healing energy over my foot like Vermont maple syrup on a short-stack of golden Jace-cakes. Magnus even helped me get up to piss — he probably would’ve sucked my cock if I’d asked! His was the first face I saw every morning. And every morning he would ask me: _‘has that pesky ghost parabatai bond faded away yet?’_ to which I would always tell him ‘ _yes_ ’. And after two-straight weeks of my _consistent insistence_ he _finally_ gulped down and digested my lie-vomit.

I realize that Magnus behaving strange-as-fuck confirms nothing as far as Alec’s location is concerned; but call this a ‘Herondale Hunch’. There’s an expression that ‘all roads lead to Rome’, well 'all clues lead to Athens’. The vampire that killed Alec was even wearing a toga for fuck’s sake. I can’t imagine any scenario where Magnus would _want_ Alec to be hidden, but I feel like he knows _something_. Maybe Magnus is fuckin’ brainwashed? Under a spell himself? Influenced by demonic possession? Or maybe he’s a freak-show Magnus from another realm!? Whatever-the-case, all hunts have to start somewhere. And Magnus gave me my jumpstart.

Athens is brimming with Downworld activity. I’ve seen a few warlocks trolling the streets and smelled dozens of sweaty werwolves. But it’s a vampire that I’m after. I don’t want to kill any innocent vamps, but I will slaughter any who get in my way. I have to be carful not to sound the ‘Shadowhunter alarm’. And too many disappearing vamps will do just that. I can’t blow my top, my cover and Alec’s chances at rescue. When I find a vamp (or two or three or fifty thousand, if that’s what it takes) I’ll start by casually asking around about Alec. My parabatai is memorable after all. I mean, how many six-foot-three-super-model-looking-American-speaking vampires can there be in this city? Alec is bound to have been noticed on the local vamp scene by someone. _Well,_ unless he’s locked in some basement somewhere and — _fuck_ — the _mere thought_ of my Alec being helpless-shackled-trapped makes me feel like there’s a garbage bag over my face.

_Dammit!_ I trip on my own foot, flailing like there was an invisible banana peel on my path.

FUCKING FOOT.

FUCKING BALANCE.

My foot is garbage and I wish I could stuff it inside the bag instead. How am I going to kick ass if I can’t fucking kick?! If I can’t find Alec through dialogue than I will need to find him through force!

FUCK THIS FOOT!

_Breathe, Jace. C’mon. Alec needs you._

I breathe _in-1-2-3-out-3-2-1,_ deep and steady like I’m breathing for us both.

I will never fail my parabatai again.

I reclaim my balance, my breath and my Herondale-Balls-O-Steel.

I limp onward because every step takes me closer to Alec.

It’s now 8:44PM and the sun is just beginning to set. As soon as the daylight retires bloodsuckers should start roaming the streets. I’ve activated a high-powered glamour that makes me invisible to mundanes and makes me appear as a mundane to Downworlders. And I’ll custom alter my appearance as my forthcoming journey demands.

The nearest Clave institute is in Thessaloniki, which is northern Greece. It’s a tiny institute and, as Athens is not a high-Downworld-crime hub, The Clave tends to keep its nose outta the city unless red flags are raised. So my glamoured presence should go undetected by fellow Shadowhunters.

The wind picks up, blowing trash around like hot, sticky kisses. I dodge a greasy paper plate and notice a tumbleweed of tourist pamphlets.

_There._

I look like a lame cat chasing a lame bird, but I’m able to rundown the paper tumbleweed and snag it.

To the mundane eye these pamphlets advertise an array of tourist attractions. _But_ to the Downworlder’s eye these advertise hotspots for vamps, including feeding stations; daytime sleeping accommodations and— _ding, ding, ding_ — nightclubs. I couldn’t conduct research on vamp pitstops through The Calve network, doing so would have been ‘mission suicide’. I might as well have picked up a megaphone and announced my plans to everyone. So I’ve been doing my research the mundane way: with google.

Mundanes see websites a heckuvalot differently than Shadowhunters do. A website advertising ‘olive picking’ might actually be a place for a warlock to pick bad memories outta your brain. I found reference to dozens of vamp nightclubs scattered across Greece, but Magnus was stuck on Athens like a burdock in a dog’s butthair. So I’ll start by investigating the clubs who are featured in these pamphlets. If these clubs have the resources to advertise then they are big, and bigger is better (in every way). Bigger means more potential for more sets of eyes and ears to have seen or heard of my tall, dark and handsome American vamp.

There are four clubs listed here: _Aphrodite’s Lounge, Págos,_ _Kακία_ and _Aíma-Aíma._ I plug the addresses into my google maps. All of these clubs are within a twelve to twenty minute walk from my current location. And all of these clubs share the same policy: no mundanes, Shadowhunters or werwolves allowed. This means that I need to spice up my glamour. I can’t pose as a vamp because my heartbeat will give me away. Fucked. Playing warlock is no good either; what if someone requests a magic trick? Fucked. So it’s seelie for the win. I have an honest-face, so I’ll be able to pull off the ‘George Washington anti-lie’ bullshit.

I’ll start with _Aphrodite’s Lounge_ and work my way down. This night may be longer than an elephant’s dick, but _bring it._ I rarely rest anymore anyway. My nightmares would make the devil squirm. Coma aside, I haven’t had a full nights sleep since Alec died.

Impulsive-me wants to storm over to _Aphrodite’s Lounge_ , break down the door and grill the first vamp I see. But I need to be a proper, patient hunter. None of these clubs even open until 11PM or later, so for now the only thing I’ll be killing is time. I’ll use it to hone my seelie ‘flower loving’ act.

Thinking of flowers, _shit,_ seelies smell like flowers and right now . . . I do a pit-check. I’m not onion bro level, but I’m no daisy either. I’m gonna need to shower and rub some potpourri into my hair and armpits.

I consider my showering options. Just like back home the hotels here seem to shoot from the ground like concrete plants; and I’m in a garden! There are loads of accommodations to pick from. I play ‘eeny, meeny, miny, moe’ and settle on a hotel with way-too-greek of a name for me to pronounce. It looks reasonably posh, so it’ll probably have complementary potpourri! I’ll slip in; snag a room key; get freshened-up and be ready to hit the club scene with the Downworlders.

I can’t wait to _hit_ the fucker who killed Alec. ‘Hit him’ as in ‘massacre him’.

I’m going to find my parabatai.

I’m going to hold onto Alec and never let go. We’ll probably be mistaken for conjoined twins and I’m okay with that.

_I’m coming, Alec._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading Chapter 6 and I hope you'll continue onward to Chapter 7. Looking forward to reading YOUR thoughts. A comment would be so appreciated. Even if you aren't sure what to say, just drop me a smile =) so I know you are reading. THANKS and please stay safe everyone. BEST WISHES, Maia's Pen


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

(Jace)

The line of Downworlders winds around the block. This is my third nightclub stop, but the only one I’ve had to wait in line for. The hopeful clubbers are mostly vampires and (luckily) none of them are sniffing me. I’m only getting ‘eye-banged’, which is normal for me anywhere I go.

I make a damn hot seelie. I’ve glamoured-up pointy ears and leafy markings. I like drinking mojitos so I went with mint leafs, and they trail like ink stamps down my skin from temples to chest. My runes are concealed, but I’m leaving my face and hair as is. My golden-locks drape over the right side of my face, teasing my cheek like Clary’s fingernails.

I snagged a hippy-looking vest from a street vendor. The fabric is light and flowy, hanging open to air-out my front. It’s the color of sand with a repeating olive pattern. Not my usual style —okay, not my _ever_ style— but it looks like something Meliorn would wear. Plus, it’s a mercy in this heat! It’s past 2AM, no sunlight, and it’s still hotter than Satan’s kitchen on BBQ night.

I’m keeping on my dark jeans and boots. If I need to kick ass these are the best to maneuver in, even if they aren’t typical ‘seelie style’. My top half is so captivating no one will be looking south anyway . . . unless they’re checking out my ass, which looks damn good. Clary calls these my ‘fuck me jeans’. She says that, when I wear them, all she can think about is taking them off.

My seraph blade is strapped to my back, but I’ve glamoured that to look like some granola-lover’s backpack. My ‘forest frat boy’ look is passing with vamps and warlocks. And, so far, I’ve managed to keep my distance from the Fair Folk; which is ideal as they’ll be tougher to fool.

Alec won’t be able to see through my glamour either, but he’ll recognize my face. When Alec was alive I could _feel_ him emotionally respond to my presence, just as he could feel me respond to his. I’ve accepted that my parabatai’s heartbeat and breathing are gone. But I miss how they _felt;_ how I could feel his physiology — _our physiology —_ alter as adrenaline and endorphins altered his moods, even when we were continents (or alternate dimensions) apart. I miss feeling Alec feel happy. I even miss feeling Alec feel sad. I know he’s close _right now_ , but I just can’t _feel_ him. It’s like laying on one of these famous greek beaches, but wearing a rubber body suit while under an umbrella. The sun’s comforting warmth is all around me —I know the sun is there— but I can’t feel its heat on my skin. The walls between Alec and I are thicker than a bank vault. I can’t break them down on my own. But I can feel Alec pressing back against the walls from the opposite side. _He’s in this city._ And once I find him: this wall, the rubber body suit, the umbrella are all fucked! Our bond will thrive again. It . . . it just _has_ too. I have to believe that it will.

I’m in line for _Kακία. Aphrodite’s Lounge_ and _Págos_ didn’t pan-out for exploration. _Aphrodite’s Lounge_ was swarming with seelies and I had to beat it before someone sussed-out that I was a fake. _Págos_ was just pathetic. There were three bartenders and only two patrons. This equaled five bored vampires, and bored vampires were more likely notice any oddities about my seelie act. Although I’m still a block away from _Kακία_ I can hear the blasting techno and raving voices. There will be no bored vampires and a plethora of distractions inside that club.

That is . . . if I ever get inside.

This line is moving slower than a geriatric sloth. I’ve been waiting thirty minutes and I’ve moved thirty steps. Who the hell is working the door down there? Are the doormen geriatric sloths? I guess since they’re vampires they’d be dead sloths?

The line advances one step.

Yippee. 

_By the angel,_ are the bouncers taking everyones height, weight and administering quizzes on greek mythology or something?

 _Fuck._ I’m not a real seelie! I’m going to age into a decrepit old man before I even reach the damn door!

I activated my Nyx rune before leaving the hotel and now regret not activating my vision rune also. I’d like to enhance my long-distance view and see what the hold up is. My stele is in my pocket, but I can’t risk flashing it.

After what feels like ‘enough-time-to-have-knit-Alec-a-Dracula-cape’ passes, the line progresses another few steps. I can finally _see_ my destination.

The other clubs were gitchy hotels, but _Kακία_ is ‘whoaaa!’. I’m headed for a colossal temple! It's gotta be wider than a baseball field. And unlike the crumbling ruins all over Athens, this temple is in pristine condition. The marble columns are thicker than mature oak trees, and they stretch upward to high-five the moon. The roof is higher than any oak tree I’ve ever seen, and it’s _covered_ with statues. The dozens of statues are having a rooftop party of their own under the starlight.

I glance at my watch. It ticks to 2:18AM. _Fuck this line._

In New York we bribe the bouncers and cut the lines. Why should Athens be any different? I have a few hundred euros in my pocket and I’ll gladly part with them if it means getting inside before my hair turns gray. And if the bouncers don’t let me in? Well, then, I’ll be removing their kidneys. I am getting inside _Kακία._ I can’t forego searching yet another club tonight.

Since the bouncers will be vampires I do a quick ‘scent check’. I smeared the hotel’s potpourri leaves all over my arms and doused my hair in their complementary rosewater. My nephilim blood should be adequately masked as long as no one does a scratch-n-sniff test.

I step from the line and toward the entrance. I’m still limping, but I’m doing my damndest to make it look like swagger. I garner some odd glances from the Downworlders, but I ignore them like the heartbeat-haters they are.

 _Kακία’s_ doorway looks like turtleshell shellacked with glittering gemstones. I’ve never seen so many sparkly things in one place before (and that’s saying something because I know Magnus Bane!). There are two bouncers at the door and they are large and built like pro athletes. Each holds an antiquated-looking scroll. Those are probably VIP guest lists.

While the bouncers are physically big, their outfits stick a pin in any threatening shadow they could cast. These tall, buff vamps are dressed like strippers. Like retro-greek strippers! They’re wearing togas that look like ‘naughty costumes’ chicks wear on halloween. The skimpy togas do a fine job of showboating their muscles, _but_ , angel-forbid these guys have to bend to restrain someone! They’ll be showboating their cocks and balls too!

One of the strippers— _I mean,_ bouncers— steps toward me. He reminds me of a burlier, paler version of Magic Mike. And this Magic Mike is looking at me like I just made a baby bat cry, so I raise my hands as a show of non-threat.

“Fýge se parakaló. Statheíte stin ourá.” Magic Mike speaks calmly but firmly in greek, pointing at me and directing me back toward the line.

“I don’t speak greek,” I say, but then add, “milao anglika.” Which means _‘I speak english’._

Magic Mike makes face like he’s just smelled the onion bros. “Get back in line.” He orders in english, which is far better than my greek.

“I’m a VIP.” I lie and — since seelies _can’t lie—_ Magic Mike relaxes his expression and refers to his scroll.

“Oh, my apologies.” The burly bouncer bows his head, averting his eyes like I’m sunlight. “You’re the guardian of the northern doorway, yes? Deo’s Canadian lover?”

_Canadian-whaaa? ‘Lover’?! Ugh, that word is so grossly old fashion._

“Yes! That’s me. I prefer to be called the ‘Canadian fuck-boy’, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Forgive me, Mister Doowrehs of the Amberwood. I should have known.” Magic Mike raises an old-tymie quill pen and checks ‘Doowrehs of the Amberwood’s’ name off of his list. “I wasn’t expecting you this early, but, no worries. You can find Deo is in his office. Welcome to _Kακία_.” He opens the door and the booming bass rattles my teeth earthquake-style. The music sounds like an army playing laser tag.

“Thank you!” I yell. I can’t hear myself, but Magic Mike’s vamp ears will. If the entryway is louder than a mosh pit then I’m gonna go deaf inside! “I’ll tell Deo what a great job you did working the door. Have a nice night now . . . eh?” I add a little ‘Canadian twang’ to my tone, drop an ‘eh-bomb’ and head on in.

That was . . .way easier than I expected. I didn’t have to offer him cash or threaten his non-functioning kidneys. 

“Holy Fucker!” I’m gonna need a forklift to close my jaw. This place shames Rockefeller Center at Christmas! New York City’s famous tree looks like Charlie Brown’s shabby weed compared to this Zeus statue! I didn’t know so many diamonds and rubies and sapphires and emeralds and whatever-the-fuck-all-sparkly-else existed in the world! Izzy would lose her shit!

The music overpowers my senses like a tidal wave, and around me countless bodies are riding that music just like one. And now . . .my heartbeat is responding to the dance beat—it’s accelerating faster than it has since . . .

Since Alec died.

 _Whoa . . . that’s a strange sensation . . ._ like a finger is itching my forehead, but from the _inside_ of my skull. And that itching is getting faster and faster and faster, just like my heartbeat, and _wow_ — I don’t see a disco ball, but the entire room is sparkling like one has been shattered into a trillion pieces and those pieces are part of the very molecules of air!

_Am I high?_

_No . . ._ but I’m feeling _something . . ._

A rando’s hand slaps my ass and I jump. I’m in the eye of a tornado that’s whirling with fangs, bouncing boobs, gyrating hips and — _damn, what? Yep,_ that’s an actual orgy occurring on Zeus’ foot.

 _This place is a lot._ _Kακία_ makes the wildest New York club seem like a tea lounge.

I spot a bar about twenty feet to the left. Bartenders are my ‘go-to’ for hunting intel. They ‘see all and hear all’, so that’s where I’m headed and — _ahhhh! Fuck!_

My abdomen! I’m cramping like I’ve eaten a bad gyro — and maybe I have— but — _ahh_ — it’s my . . . my . . . parabatai rune. . . or what used to be . . . but that means—!!!!

_Alec!_

_He’s here!_

_He’s fucking IN HERE!_

I clutch my abdomen and the skin feels fevered, noticeably warmer than the surrounding flesh. I’m gonna give myself whiplash and make owls jealous —I’m looking north-south-east-west-up-down for my Alec! But all I see are vamps glaring at me like I’m a drunk.

Despite the discomfort, I (literally) grin and bear it. _I am grinning_ — I could win a fuckin’ grinning contest! I have a full-on tooth smile goin’ like a total psycho and I love it. I’ve enjoyed pain before— a girl’s nails digging into my back; her finger in my ass; her bottom teeth _just_ scrapping my balls — _but this_. . . _this pain_ is the most outrageously euphoric sensation I have _ever_ experienced.

My body is reacting _to him_.

And my body urges me to look left, and then a little to the right and . . .

_ALEC!_

My parabatai is less than twenty feet away and I want to stomp on every foot that dares to separate us!

I can’t see Alec’s face, only the back of his head and shoulders. He’s sitting at the bar, slouching and —even runeless— he’s unmistakable. There are dozens of vampires wedged around him — the bar is overflowing like a bucket of thrashing and snapping piranhas! Hands reach over Alec for drinks; brush against him to flirt; bodies lean on him; across him; reach around him — just bodies, bodies, bodies! Every single one of these bodies looks like a super model — a collection of the sexiest vampires on earth— and my parabatai is a god among them all. Mount Olympus surrounded by some basic, run-o-the-mill rocks. 

_There . . . can’t . . . be. . . any distance. . . between . . . us . . ._

I push a fanged-idiot outta my way . . . _I’m one step closer_. . . I shove another to the floor . . . _I’m one step closer_ . . .and Alec’s entire frame stiffens like he’s just died again . . . and . . .

Alec shoots upright like he’s heard an explosion! He turns around and his eyes — _oh, thank the angel_ — are exactly the same. His eyes are the brownest-brown-of-all-browns; the envy of any and every brown thing in the entire world. I’m going paint my bedroom, The Institute’s sick ward and, _fuck it_ , the whole Institute ‘Alec brown’. My favorite eyes find me at once, pinpointing me as though I were a flashing neon sign. My parabatai’s mouth opens like he’s waiting for someone to pop in a grape! And I better be the one to feed him, if anyone else tries I’ll cut off their hand.

 _My heart!_ It’s pounding like a caged maniac! I think my ribs are gonna crack. It’s like the organ has powered-up its own stamina rune. That itching inside my skull and that burning inside my abdomen merge into a clawing creature! A creature desperate for air and freedom; trying to tear its way through my sternum and flesh to get to Alec!But instead of tearing through me, this creature turns my legs into wet noodles. My entire frame sways to the right, then to the left, and it’s only Alec’s gravity which holds me upright. Our sights merge like water-droplets and become clocks that have stopped spinning — halting the entire universe. All of the sounds, the smells, the dancers, the drinkers, the orgy-goers, and even the mighty Zeus fade away like the stars at daybreak. All that exists is Alec. He is the sun. No other lights stand a chance. All of the olympian gods, every angel on high, and even fuckin’ Santa Claus could be orbiting Alec — slappin’ high-fives and doing cartwheels— and I wouldn’t even notice them, because _all I see is him_.

I’ve forgotten how to breath.

Or maybe I don’t even need oxygen anymore because my body has Alec again and he’s all I ever really needed anyway.

Alec’s mouth remains agape — _what’s he got, lockjaw or something?_ My own sight strays from his face to assess the rest of him. _Well, damn._ Leave it to Lightwood to wear Death like a boss. Alec is in even better shape than he was when he died. I don’t know why-the-fuck he’s wearing one of those skimpy-bouncer-togas, but he is, and I don’t hate it. I’m seeing _a lot_ of Alec’s body and —while I’m _so_ not into ‘man body’—he looks _good_. Alec is all muscles bound tightly under fair skin. His skin is even paler than it was when he died; but it’s not ghastly, it’s gorgeous . . . he’s a masterpiece. His body is chiseled and strong like a marble statue. Only Alec is far more impressive than any sculpture because — even though he’s undead— he’s still flesh and blood and hair and eyes and everything perfect that is Alec. I miss his runes, but there’s _something_ about Alec’s skin now . . . just a flawless, white canvass contrasting against his dark hair . . . his dark eyes . . .

Alec’s pupils expand, making his eyes darker than bottomless pits and I just want to jump and fall within him forever.

I have so many questions, but fuck ‘em for now.

I need to run into his arms.

_I need him!_

But my hunting instincts ping my brain like an annoying text message, warning me that ‘doing what I need’ is dangerous for us both. I need to stay calm and breathe. But doing either is an epic feat — it would be easier to piss into a shot glass while riding a merry-go-round — but I do it. I coerce myself into inhaling and exhaling. I can not spotlight attention onto us. There are hundreds of Downworlders in here and who knows who’s watching. And so I order my legs to ‘man-the-fuck-up’ and I approach Alec slowly, like a geriatric sloth, one step at a time.

My parabatai finally shuts his mouth and his sight slides down my body — directly to my right foot. Alec sees me limping and his cheeks tighten, his fangs flash and then . . . he disappears! _No,_ he doesn’t disappear — he’s moving! But he’s a black-n-white-sparkly blur; charging me faster than he ever could with a speed rune!

Alec stands in front of me, _and he’s so close_ that if I blew on his chest I’d stir the dark hairs. He’s looking down at me like I’ve just jumped outta a cake naked. I don’t know if he’s happy, horrified or hungry.

My former parabatai rune is having a psychotic break! Our bond is going nuclear and I can’t _feel_ what he’s feeling — it’s white noise in my bloodstream, my brain, my soul!

“Why are you limping?”

Somehow I hear him over the music and white noise and .. .

Alarm screeches through our bond like it’s on fire! And this fire burns my balance as though I were a paper-doll. My kneecaps must be ash because they no longer have the substance to support me and I’m going down . . .I’m going to fall over! My rescue is embarrassing and pathetic and —

Alec catches me. _Of course he does_. My parabatai hoists me over his shoulder caveman-style, lifting me with the ease of an empty plastic bag.

“Protest.” Alec orders, and I _feel_ his urgency like a shot of adrenaline. His fingers dig into the backs of my thighs and, if it weren’t for my jeans, I’d be bleeding.

“Ah, hey there, Hercules, put me down!” I squirm for show; enough so that Alec has to re-grip me. One of his hands grabs my left ass cheek and that fire in my legs ignites my bloodstream like it’s oil, blazing to my face and making my cheeks burn. _What the fuck?! Am I under a heating vent or something—?_

And Alec _moves._

Reality shifts and the wind is on my face. Even though it’s warm wind, it’s cooler than my skin. We aren’t even in the club anymore. Alec has run me right out the front door, carried me off the temple grounds and into a nearby ally. But I can’t focus on the glittering temple across the street. I can’t feel the suffocating humidity. I can’t even smell the pissy city air. I can only experience my Alec.

My parabatai lowers me to the ground as though _I_ _were_ composed of paper — wet paper that could easily tear. My boots feel the solid ground beneath them, but my head is convinced that the soil is caving in; and so my body caves into Alec. I fall against his chest like a god has pushed me. My arms know exactly how to hug Alec; holding him is as natural as breathing. He belongs _in_ my arms more than my skin and runes belong _on_ them. I wrap around his torso and my fingers find refuge sliding under his toga and pressing into the skin on his back. I press all of my fingers into him as though I could brand him with my prints; as though it were _that easy_ to mark him as mine.

Alec’s skin not only looks like marble, but it’s cold as marble too. And, while this should devastate me, the coolness is a relief to my searing skin. I press my entire brow and nose into his chest; where his heartbeat _should_ be, and I just breathe. His chest hair tickles my cheeks and I smile into him. My cheeks actually hurt, but not from his chest hair, but from smiling so big.

I might as well be hugging a statue for Alec is as still as one. He’s a cold, firm body in my arms. But he smells too perfect to be made of rock. There’s a layer of some fancy cologne and beneath that is all my Alec. Eau de Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane. I inhale him like I’ve been underwater for weeks. Six weeks to be exact.

Alec’s hands are finally on me, but not to return my embrace. He peels me off of him like I’m clingy saran wrap, and then pushes me away. Alec is so damn vamp-strong that my ass nearly graces the dirt with an imprint. I regain my footing and move forward to hug him again, but Alec steps backward. My parabatai raises both hands like he’s erecting an invisible barrier to keep me at bay.

“Alec—?”

“You’re limping.” Alec says, hijacking my protest. The firmness in his expression melts as though the sizzling greek air was too much, even for him. “Why haven’t you drawn an iratze? And _how the hell_ did you get into _Kακία?_ ”

“Alec, _please,_ just hold me for a moment and then—”

“No.” My parabatai’s voice is as firm as his marble-esque body. “Why are you limping?”

I force my stupid foot to bear weight and it _fucking hurts_ like there’s glass in my boot. But I don’t flinch. I flaunt a carefree facade as though I were standing on feathers. “I’m fine, Alec. My foot is still healing from Jumbo Drac shattering it. It doesn't even hurt. It's just stiff cuz I’ve been on it for hours and—”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?!” Alec balls his fists like he actually wants to punch me. “You’re lying to me.”

 _Oh, he’s pissed._ Alec’s eyebrows draw together and I _fucking love_ his ‘angry face’ so much . . . but, I don’t want him to be angry. I want him to be happy. I exist to make him happy.

“I’m sorry, _yes_ , my foot is sore, okay? But I don’t want you to worry. All that matters is: _I’m here now._ I found you. We’re together.”

“I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been worried about you.” Alec’s words crush me — an emotional anvil dropping from the sky and onto my chest. He takes a step toward me and his fists relax, but his fingers are trembling as though he were cold. But . . . Alec can’t feel cold anymore. It’s the effort of self-restraint that’s making him tremble. Alec _wants_ to hold me, but instead he’s holding himself back. _Why?_

“I knew you’d come for me, but Ja—-Ja— _dammit_!” Alec chokes on my name like a mouth full of dirt. “But J-J- _Jonathan_ , you have to leave. Right now.”

“What?!” I sound as surprised as I am. “You want me to leave?! And, _‘Jonathan’, really_? Why are you calling me that?”

Alec’s attention is doin’ the fuckin’ hokey-pokey. His eyes are ping-ponging behind me, above me, to the right, to the left. “It’s not safe for you here. I can’t say your name which means my sire is close by. He’s preoccupied with . . . _um,_ guests right now. But if he hears us or sees us. . . I-I can’t protect you from him and you’re unfit to protect yourself with that foot. You’re injured and you shouldn’t have come alone like this. You need to go home, get back-up—”

My turn to play ‘word-hijacker’: “First of all: did _you_ forget who _you’re_ talking to? You think a slight limp makes me inept? I’m the best Shadowhunter there is. Secondly: if your sire is here then I need to kill him. He has to pay for what he did to us. Thirdly: I can’t get any backup even if I needed it, which I don’t. Izzy, Clary, Magnus — _everyone— they_ all believe you’re dead, Alec. It’s like they’ve been brainwashed. I insisted that you were turned, but no one believes me.”

“Then . . . it’s . . . true.” Alec murmurs like he’s reading his own last rites.

“What’s true? What the hell is going on?! You can’t say my name? You want me to leave? You’re clearly not locked in a cage and being tortured, which is what I expected. Instead you’re dressed like a stripper and hanging out at the bar! I’ve been insane without you — _out of my mind_ — and you’ve been out clubbing!? Why haven’t you contacted me? Let me know you’re okay?!” I close the distance between us and grab his shoulders, gripping them like the handlebars of my sanity! If I can’t steer Alec’s body to follow mine then I’m gonna careen off of a cliff and bring the entire city of Athens with me!

I squeeze Alec's shoulders and they’re like squeezing meat just pulled from a freezer. And just like a hunk of frozen, dead meat Alec doesn’t flinch under the pressure of my hands. He just looks down at me like I’m a mouse in a pit of vipers.

“Alec,” I breathe his name and it gets me higher than any mundane drug. “I’m here to take you home, so let’s just fuckin’ go. I'll double-back and kill your sire after I've gotten you away from him, okay? You can fill me in on everything on the way.”

“No.” My parabatai refuses me; then he steps backward, pulling out of my grasp and damming this entire city to my impending madness. “You can’t save me right now, Jonathan. Save yourself, get out of Athens. _I can't leave my sire_. I physically can not be away from him.”

“Well, I can't physically be away from you. So we're at an impasse. And you know I'm the jealous type, Alec, I don't like sharing. So I guess ole' sire needs to be put down right now." 

"No! You're not listening. He's dangerous--"

"So am I."

"He's more dangerous. You don't understand! Please, Jonathan, _do not_ go after him!" Alec's expression . . . his voice . . . he's like a mundane who's seen a demon. 

"Fine, I won't pursue him _tonight,_ but only if you come with me. _I’m_ here _for you_ and I’m not leaving without you. I'll knock you out and drag you back to New York if I have to, but you’re coming with me. If you refuse then I'll march back into that club and gut your sire. Either way, this night ends with us on our way home.” I extend my hand and Alec looks at it like I’m offering him a bag of dog shit.

“You're too impulsive. You'll damn us both." Those brown eyes are coffee in desperate need of sugar and cream. "Your judgment is foolish. You've over-estimated your abilities in this situation. You weren't patient. You didn't do the research. You came here ill-prepared. You're not thinking of your own safety at all!" Alec is exasperated, scolding me like I'm some noob hunter. "I don’t know how you got into _Kακία,_ but entering was reckless. I heard your heartbeat.”

“Seelies have heartbeats.” I defend. “And with this glamour I blend right in. That’s how I got in. The doorman mistook me for a VIP seelie. Someones ‘lover.’"

“Dammit. I have to get back before the real Doowrehs shows up. Dammit, Jonathan! DAMMIT! Your heartbeat is nothing like a seelies. Shadowhunter hearts beat faster than seelies do. You should know that! You aren't thinking! Besides, I recognized _your_ heartbeat before I even saw you. And that’s not all .. . I can . . . _smell you_.” Alec leans toward me and sniffs a few inches from my face. But where I blissfully indulged in ‘Eau de Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane’, Alec looks anything but blissful. I’m about to ask him if I smell like onions when he says: “You smell good . . . _really, really good_.”

“Thanks. I smeared potpourri all over my arms.”

Alec doesn’t look impressed by my ‘scent creativity’, he looks like he’s been pinched in the balls. I can _feel something really, really bad_ through our bond and — _holy shit!_

I can _feel_ him through our bond!

But the feeling is like fucking with two condoms on (yeah, this one chick I banged was really paranoid) —your bodies are connected, but the sensation is dull and you’ll never get off.

“Do you feel that, Alec?” I ask him and our sights embrace the way our bodies want to.

Eye contact _like this_ with _anyone else_ would feel intrusive; like trying to crawl into the other person’s soul through their pupils and scrolling through every thought and memory and feeling they’ve ever had like an instagram feed. But every thought and memory and feeling we cherish most encompasses each other. We are staring into the reflection of our own souls. We are incapable of looking away. Not that I’d ever want to anyway. I’d be like the greek myth about Narcissus, the super vain guy. He fuckin’ starved to death because he couldn’t bring himself look away from his own perfect reflection in a pond. His suicidal narcissism seems totally sane to me now. Narcissus probably looked like Alec.

Our bond is like the broken bones in my foot — it’s fusing itself back together and the sensation is . . . _well,_ it’s a lot better than sex in two condom layers. My hand migrates to my abdomen and Alec mirrors me, touching his own. Our fingers splay over our former parabatai runes.

_THERE!_

One of those sensation-dulling condoms has broken and, if we stay like this —visually edging— then our bond will be raw-dawgin’ it again very soon.

_We’re so close . . . Alec . . . I need to feel you again . . . all of you . . ._

My parabatai opens his mouth to speak, but blinks instead — prematurely ‘pulling-out’ of my soul. His lashes flutter as though his eyes were adjusting to a change of light. Mine threaten me with black-out. I stagger backward and rely on a trash bin to ground my body and mind.

“ _You . . ._ ” Alec swallows hard, like he has a mouthful of dry crackers. “. . . you . . . just smell too good.” He bunches some toga fabric around his hips and grips until his already pale knuckles are virgin-level-white. I think he wants to kill the poor cloth. It's an awkward thing to do, but this _is_ Alec. 

I push off of the trash bin and stand upright. _Hmm. ._ . I’m not so sure it’s the potpourri he’s enamored by. Alec’s upper lip is twitching . . . his expression reminds me of a homeless junkie begging for spare change. I’ve never seen him look at me like _this_ . . . I’m not even sure what ‘this’ is . . . but it's also awkward . . .

Instinct urges me to redirect him: “I really smell good? Aww, that’s so nice, Alec! Thank you!” I say like he’s surprised me with a gift. “You smell nice, too. And you also look really . . . um . . .”

Alec’s lip stops twitching and he shifts like he’s standing on marbles. He continues to strangle his toga though. “Ridiculous! I look ridiculous!" He spits like he’s just kissed a girl. _Thank the angel_ , he can still eye-roll like champion!

“No, you really don’t. I mean, you look better in a dress than most of the women I’ve seen here.”

Actually, my parabatai looks better in a dress than any woman I’ve ever seen in a dress. Ever. Even Clary. But no need to fluff his dead ego too much. Instead I toss Alec a teasing grin, but he volleys back with a grimace.

“It’s not a dress, it’s a toga.”

“Yes, Grumpy Cat, sorry, ‘a toga’. I’m tempted to try one on myself now—”

“ _Enough._ ” Alec snarls like a Grumpy Lion that would Eat Grumpy Cat as a snack. _“_ I’ve been gone too long as it is. They’ll be looking for me and now I have to cover for you. You have to go, Jonathan.”

“Not without you!” I snatch Alec’s right hand from his toga. He starts to tug away, but my other hand comes in for back-up. I press his palm against my bare chest, directly over my heart. Alec’s skin is _so cold_ and my nipples respond, hardening like I’m skinny-dipping in Alaska. “Close your eyes.” I tell him and he . . . actually does. Alec’s face goes still like it did when he . . . when he . . . died.“Do you feel that, Alec?” I ask as my heart thuds against his hand like it _needs_ to get outta me and into him. “I’m right here, parabatai. I’m here to take you home where you belong, which is with me. I was made to love and protect you, and I’m not leaving without you.”

“I know.” Those brown eyes open slowly, like they’re on rusty hinges. Alec makes no motion to move his hand away. I hope his hand has frozen itself to my skin. “I was made to love and protect you too. But if my sire finds you then I won’t be able to protect you. He can _make me hurt you_. You don't understand how strong he is.” Alec pauses like he wants to sigh, but his body doesn’t do that anymore. “Okay, you won’t leave Athens. _Fine._ If the situation was reversed I wouldn’t leave either. But, you can not confront my sire. Not now. Not like this. For now, please, just get off of the streets and off of that foot, okay? If you go now then I promise that I’ll explain everything later." He pauses and looks like he's about to say something he already regrets. " _Shit._ This is risky, but, here,” Alec pries his hand from my chest and reaches into his sandal, pulling out a key. “Take this.” I do and he continues: “This is my apartment key. The address is 599 Pan’s Place. Unit 5.”

My ears must be full of wax, so I clarify: “You have an apartment?!”

“Yes. I said that I’ll explain later. Pay attention, Ja—- _dammit_! Just wait for me there. I’ll be right behind you. But you have to go. Now. _Shit_. You can’t even walk normally so get a damn uber, okay? Just go!”

Alec shoves me like I was a would-be offender! I lose my balance and have to flail my arms (in a very non-Jace-agile way) to regain it.

“O-okay-y,” I concede, panting to regain the breath he’s knocked outta me. Alec looks like a bat who’s spied an owl, he’s about to flea! And I . . . I’m not ready to be away from him . . . not yet . . .not ever . . .

I reach forward and touch Alec’s cheek, but he plucks my finger from his face like it’s an unwanted glittery sticker! _How fuckin’ rude._ I don’t understand why he’s being Mr. Anti-Affection; why he can't say 'Jace'; why he's so terrified of his sire; why he's a stripper with his own apartment; _but_ I smile at him anyway. I blast Alec with the smile _I know_ used to make him weak in the knees. I know this because I used to _feel_ his heartbeat quicken and savor the boomerang return-rush.

But Alec winces as though stung by a real boomerang.

I’d rather pull splinters outta my own ballsack with my teeth than _ever_ hurt him. So I turn and start walking away to do as he wants me to do: get an uber, go to his apartment and wait for him.

“You’re limping badly.” Alec sounds like he’s got a ballsack full-o-splinters, and I love him so much I’d pull those out with my teeth too.

“It’s fine, Alec. The foot _is_ healing.”

When Alec says nothing I glance over my shoulder. He looks like he’s trying to solve a difficult math equation . . .but that’s also his normal expression and I’m ready to go full-on Narcissus-suicide again looking at him.

He’s worried about me. I’ve missed him worrying about me.

“I love you, Alec, I’ve missed you so much, and . . .” my parabatai dashes away, leaving a streak of glittering-mist in his wake. “ . . . _I am_ going to kill the bastard who took you from me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you are enjoying my story! Please take a moment to leave a comment (even a little one) to let me know that you are taking this imagination ride with me. =)  
> Please be well. Sending AIR HUGS to everyone, Maia's Pen  
> PS- I hope to have some fancy cover art to share for this story soon. The artist has the rough draft done and it looks GREAT!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

(Alec)

_Walk, Alec, walk. Do not run._

I’ve already fallen way off of my ‘schedule wagon’, so I’m trying to adhere to at least one of Deo’s rules: ‘Leave work and walk (do not run) to apartment'. But walking back to my apartment while knowing that JACE IS THERE and he’s injured and he needs me and —shit, _HE’S HERE IN ATHENS AND HE’S AT MY APARTMENT!_ My sandaled feet may as well be Hermes' winged-ones — I feel like I’m about to take flight! I keep imagining that my ankles are dragging my heavy, dead heart behind them in order to slow myself down.

I glance at my cellphone. It’s 3:04 AM. I sent Jace off twenty-two minuets ago. If he took an Uber (like I told him to) he should have gotten to my apartment within minutes. I hope he’s put that foot up and he’s icing it and, _shit,_ I don’t have any ice. _Shit._ I don’t even have any food. Well, it’s not like I had any notice that Jace was popping in today. He can really expect that I’ve baked muffins.

 _Shit._

Jace is here to save me.

But who’s going to save him from me?

_Shut your mouth-er-inner monologue. Don’t think like that! Shame on you, Alec. You would never hurt Jace. You couldn’t, right?! Well, not on purpose. And Jace can protect himself anyway, even from you . . . but, his foot . . ._

I check my phone again. 3:05AM. I’m suppose to be working _Kακία’s_ front door right now. I left work an hour early. This is not allowed. _If_ Deo finds out then he’ll be unhappy; as in ‘ _I’ll suffer consequences’_ kind of unhappy. But right now any consequences are worth _just seeing_ Jace again. It’s selfish of me. My need to be near him is greedy, pathetic and desperate. I’ve been sinking within my undead-Jaceless-existence for so long, and it feels _damn good_ to rise to the surface and take a ‘hit of Jace' again.

_A hit of happiness._

Of course, if Deo finds out then the ‘hits’ I’ll be taking won’t be so pleasant. But I can suffer Deo as long as Jace is safe. I can’t pray to the feathery-winged folk for aid, and I don’t think the devil will give a shit, so — _what the hell_ — I peer into the night sky. There are more stars up there than I’ve ever seen from the New York City streets. Maybe one of them is peering back at me? The ancient greeks thought that the stars and planets were gods. And, well, since I’m in Greece I might as well try my luck.

If I’m gonna aim, why not aim high?

I clear my throat and glance around. I have an audience of about a dozen cats. “Hey, Zeus. Alec here. I work as a bouncer in your old temple, which is now a nightclub. _Ah, um_ , anyway, could you please throw this greedy, pathetic, desperate vampire a bone? I’m just a selfish bastard who misses his parabatai. But I don’t want my parabatai to suffer because of _my_ greed. Can you please keep an eye on him? He’s really attractive, buff, blond, covered in runes, you can’t miss him. Um . . . thank you. You really, really can’t miss him, so . . .”

But I sure as hell miss him . . .

Two of the cats hiss at me. I raise my hands in mock-defense. “Harsh. You know, _this is_ only my first time praying to an Olympian. I’m not like Jace, perfect at everything right outta the gate, ya know? I just need some practice—”

One cat stalks toward me, hackles raised and tail high. She’s making a sound like she’s either in heat or wants to claw my face off.

Well, I _was_ looking for an excuse to quicken my pace.

I find a ‘happy medium’ between slow mundane walk and full-blown vamp run, but I’m mindful to keep my speed within mundane standards.

My footfalls create a rhythm: I need him-need him-need him. I’m selfish-selfish-selfish.

I may be selfish but my parabatai is stupid. Jace never should have gotten into _Kακία._ He’s damn lucky I heard him—smelled him—saw him before Deo did. My co-workers, Hephaestion and Troy, were working the door while I was on my break; and Troy was utterly duped by Jace’s ridiculous seelie act. Fortunately Deo sire-forced Troy into working for him because of his body and not his brain. I easily convinced my co-worker that Jace was an imposter of Deo’s lover, Doowrehs, and that Troy was deceived by ‘tricky seelie wordplay.’ I bartered with Troy, saying that ‘ _if he covered for me so I could leave early’_ that ‘ _I wouldn’t tell Deo that he’d admitted a fraud.’_

I told Troy that I only sussed-out the imposter because "Doowreh's" was shoving patrons around (which was true), and so I removed him from the premises. Troy didn’t want to gain Deo’s ire and so he agreed to my terms. He promised that he’d tell our sire that I _‘just scooted out a few minutes early’_ verses an hour. Deo will be preoccupied with his orgy anyway (especially since the real Doowrehs did show up to join in), so he probably won’t get Troy’s report until sunrise. Best-case scenario: Deo doesn’t care that I dodged a few minutes of work. Worse-case scenario: Deo is madder than a demon stranded on a heavenly cloud. In which case he’ll come to my apartment to punish me. But he can’t check on me in the sunlight, so no matter what I have the day to convince Jace to go back to New York where he’s safe from Deo and from me. Though Magnus is another story.

I slow down as a group of mundane tourists stumble past me. My speed needs to looks ‘natural’. They all smell like booze, which grossly-gratefully weakens the smell of their blood. One of them asks for a photo. This happens occasionally. As I’m dressed like an ancient greek they think I’m a street performer, which is a common sight here. I ignore them. Of course. This is another of Deo’s rules _: 'Do not interact with anyone along the way.’_

One of the mundanes calls me ‘rude’ and I smile. At least, I _think_ it’s a smile? But it feels foreign on my mouth like lipstick, and I realize . . . I haven’t smiled since I was alive. And then that smile goes limp as I think of Jace’s limp foot.

I speed up again.

I always believed that my parabatai would come and save me. I believed this with a conviction to rival the ancient greeks belief in Zeus. Waiting for Jace’s rescue is what’s kept me sane. I imagined him bursting into _Kακία,_ golden-runes-a-blazing with Clary and Izzy at his sides. I envisioned him smashing that smug fanged-grin from Deo’s face; smashing our sire-bond and then taking me home. This is a reoccurring fantasy, and one of the few I experience where Jace is clothed. But the version of Jace starring in my ‘rescue fantasy’ is very different than the one who showed up at _Kακία_. Instead of Jace saving me I had to save him from his own stupidity. He turned up alone, limping and looking exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. And sleep is not the only necessity that he’s lost, he’s lost weight too. Jace is still muscular and fit, but he’s noticeably thinner and paler and, _apparently_ , dumber than he was when I died.

What was he _thinking?! Kακία_ is jam-packed with powerful vampires. At full-golden-strength my parabatai could massacre them all, but like _this?_ He’s like a lamb gimping into the slaughterhouse. And Jace should know better! He’s a Shadowhunter! He’s not naïve, he’s ignorant. He’s over-confident. He’s . . . just, well, clearly not thinking clearly without me.

And what’s worse is that: _I_ would be one of my parabatai’s executioners. My sire would love to force me to hurt Jace.

When I saw Jace hobbling toward me, blond hair bobbing within a sea of fangs, it was like reliving the night that I died. The night where _Jace was helpless._ He was so handicapped by that same foot, vulnerable like a one-winged sparrow in a pit of vipers. He literally could not stand up to Deo then, and he won’t be able to now. Jace has to come at Deo with _all_ of his strength or nothing. I need to send my parabatai packing before nightfalls again.

_Well, I’m here._

My apartment is on the first floor of a five floor building. The architecture is modest in size (at least by New York City standards), but it’s one of the larger apartment complexes I’ve seen in Athens. Luckily for Jace’s foot my front door is accessible from the sidewalk, no stair climbing required.

I pause at my door. It’s painted blue like the sky on a sunny day. _So_ it’s a blue that I don’t get to see anymore. The paint is chipping around the edges, revealing the wood beneath. These contrasting colors remind me of Jace’s eyes. The tear-filled eyes that I died in — the last image cataloged by my mortal brain. Jace’s eyes are what I’ve daydreamed about, wet-dreamed about and flat-out jerked-off thinking about since I was old enough _to_ jerk-off. I usually imagine him on his knees, gripping my ass, looking up at me; those etherealeyes glazed-over with lust _— watering-blinking-straining_ — as I cram my cock down his— STOP IT _._

I step back from the door and cover my own eyes with my hands. My demon eyes don’t deserve to look into Jace’s nephilim ones.

I indulged my sins when we were in the ally. I looked my desire in the eyes. _Fuck,_ the way he _looked_ at me . . . we haven’t parabatai-tracked in a long, long time, but it was _something_ like that. Like staring into direct sunlight and delighting as my corneas are torched. What a spectacular way to go blind. I wanted to kiss him. _I always want to kiss him_. But I wasn’t an emotional masochist when I could breathe, and being unable to breathe hasn’t changed that.

Our bond was trying to stitch it’s self back together. I felt it. It felt like I was mortal again and we were seeing each other from across a great lake. We were both in view, but too far from the other to make out any details. Neither of us had a boat and it was way too far for one person to swim; we’d never make the distance without drowning. And the lake’s length was unending. There was no way around. And as I melted into Jace’s gaze we both just said ‘fuck it’; dove into the water and started swimming. We were getting _so close_ to one another, a few more seconds of effort and Jace would be in my arms! But then . . . I realized that holding him would only damn us both to a watery grave. We would reach each other, we would embrace, and then we would stop swimming. Once I had him in my arms I would be too selfish to let him go, and I’d pull us both down. So . . .

I turned and swam back.

But I’m determined to build a bridge. There’s no Home Depot for buying ‘parabatai bond building’ tools. I don’t know what I have to do to repair _us._ But if Jace and I put our heads together (figuratively, of course) maybe we can figure this bond anomaly out? Our bond shouldn't exist at all. It should have been snuffed-out along with my breath. 

_You shouldn’t go inside. Jace isn’t safe around you. You should go back to work. Just ghost him— no, he’ll just show up at Kακία again. He’s as incapable of being away from you as you are him._

I need to see Jace.

I need to smell Jace.

I need to touch Jace.

 _No!_ I need to keep my distance.

I can’t touch him and I can’t let him touch me.

I touch the door knob instead, but I don’t turn it.

I’m pretty sure that rusty nails and bleach are churning within my stomach.

My parabatai just wants to be close to me, to hold me. And I want that too, more than _anything,_ but earlier, when he embraced me he . . . just . . . smelled _too good_.

Jace felt _too good_. I could actually _feel_ the heat of his skin. Up until now I’ve been immune to temperature changes. I’m resistant to Athens sweltering heat. I feel nothing. Touching a candle flame feels the same as a cube of ice, until Jace.

Each if his finger falls unthawed my nerve-endings, penetrating them like acupuncture pins. That is if the acupuncturist coated their needles in aphrodisiac-inducing oil. That’s an artsy-way of saying Jace’s touch made my cock hard. _No,_ the word ‘hard’ is insufficient. When Deo touches me my traitorous cock gets ‘hard’ — an unwanted, fucked-up, new vampire physiological reflex. And while my ‘Jace-induced-erection’ is still a fucked-up, new vampire physiological reflex, _it’s one that_ _I welcome. I want it_. And though Jace is oblivious to the effect he has on me — he’s always been oblivious —it’s harder to fight a thirst that my body has been hard-wired to crave. My live tongue and dead one remain equally deprived of his taste.

In the ally it wasn’t ‘just his skin’ that I wanted to lick; his fingers and tongue that I wanted to suck, and his cock that I wanted to swallow. Jace’s nephilim blood beckoned me through his veins like a Siren. The desire to drink him overwhelmed all reason; short-circuiting my brain like death. And then the _need_ for pleasure — the need to bite and hold and grind and moan and _take_ my satisfaction —nearly took me over like only Deo’s will can.

Jace’s innocent, loving embrace made me harder and thicker than his damn foolish head. His oblivious nature spared my humiliation. I did my best to bunch my toga around my midsection to hide it.

I’m embarrassed. I’m ashamed. And while I _don’t_ want Jace to know that I’m a slave to my bodily urges, I also can’t continue to be selfish when it comes to his safety. I need to confide in him. He can’t remain naïve to my demonic nature. He needs to be on guard around me at all times. If I try to bite him, if I succeed . . . _no. Never._

My fingers hover over the doorknob like it’s wrapped in barbed-wire. Through the door I can hear Jace’s heart thudding. Drumsticks of impatience and concern are wailing on his primal organ. He knows I’m out here. He’s standing opposite me. Continents no longer separate us, just this wood that matches his eyes. 

My hand falls away from the doorknob as though my arm has fallen asleep. I want to kick this door in, rush my parabatai and wrap my arms around him — hug him like the world is ending. I want to cry into his hair even tough my tears will stain the strands red. I want tell him about Magnus, about my heartbreak. I want to beg him to save me — to never let me go. To promise me that we’ll never be parted again. But all of my ‘wants’ place Jace in danger. All of my ‘wants’ threaten him with Deo’s menace or my own.

I have to grab that barbed-wire knob. I have to yank that door open. I have to see my parabatai. And, above all, I have to refrain from touching him. If I could take a deep breath I would, but instead I close my eyes and prepare for —

The door flies open as though Zeus himself kicked it in!

Jace stands in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other on his hip. He’s lost the seelie glamour. Instead he’s wearing one of my togas, a bemused expression and . . . nothing else.

“Alec!” My parabatai says my name sharply, like it’s a curse word. But then he spreads his arms, inviting me in for a hug. “How long are you gonna stand out there? You like torturing us both?” Relief and concern battle to dominate Jace’s face. His beautiful wet face. Jace’s sun-kissed hair is sopping and droplets of water stream over his his brow, lashes, and then traverse his cheeks . . . lips . . . down his throat . . . Adam’s apple. The water trails through the valleys of rune-decorated muscles on his chest and abdomen, spilling like a tiny waterfall over his navel and finally damming where the fabric conceals his dignity. A few rebellious droplets run through the skirt and between his thighs, over his knees, shins and pool around his bare feet. I envy the journey those droplets have just traveled. Though I no longer thirst for water, I would sell what’s left of my soul to lap those droplets off of his skin _._

Jace’s right foot is swollen like he’s stepped on a jellyfish. He shouldn’t be standing. He should be laying down, elevating and icing that foot.

My sight flicks upward and I aim to scold Jace. To order him to lay down! But his beautiful face disarms me again. If had breath he’d have stolen it. Jace is too perfect to even be real. In that toga he looks like a greek hero who’s stepped out of one of Deo’s paintings. My dead eyes covet him. Wretched weeds reaching for the sun. Jace commands them. He’ll have to stab my eyes from my skull to set me free. The shimmery, black toga looks better on Jace than it could ever look on me. As he’s shorter the fabric falls longer on him, just brushing his knees. I hate that toga and I love it. After Jace leaves I’m never going to wash that toga. It will smell like him and— _shit. He smells so fucking good._

My hand shoots upward, slapping against my own face, covering my nose and mouth. I take a cautious step back as though I were standing on cracking ice. The defensive reflex is too late and I’m overwhelmed with an aromatic cocktail of body wash, pheromones, blood and sweat. Though Jace has just showered his mortal body is not use to the heat of Athens. And, as I have no need for one, my apartment does not have a cooling unit. Therefore the city is sucking the moisture from him. I want to join Athens and have a three-way, between us we’ll drain Jace of sweat, blood and cu— _STOP IT!_

“Alec, no, _please,_ don’t back away from me.” Jace’s face and voice are like a captive begging for mercy. He lowers his arms, abandoning the hug we both want. “Just come inside, will ya? By the angel, parabatai, c’mon!” He steps aside and motions for me to enter.

I take a step forward, still treating the stone porch as though it were the surface of a frozen pond. And now I catch the scent of something else . . . something familiar, but it’s unappealing, it’s . . .

“Jace, is that pizza?”

My parabatai grins like he’s bested me in arm wrestling. “Yes! It’s good too. It’s not like you had any food here. Your entire fridge is just bags of blood and— _hey_! Alec! You said my name!”

I slip past Jace like he’s a creepy totem poll and make my way into the kitchen (and as far away from him as possible). My apartment is moderately-sized. It’s a two bedroom and one bathroom unit. The second bedroom was converted into a gym. The entryway leads directly into this large room which is a kitchen-living room combo. Because Deo is the definition of ‘posh’, he had my apartment renovated accordingly. All flooring is pristine white marble, the furniture is lavish and the decor is straight outta some fancy mythology-themed hotel. The only appliance is a stainless steel fridge which is packed with blood bags. In place of a dishwasher and stove Deo has placed life-sized sculptures. As with a cooling unit, my sire never ordered these other appliances as they are useless for a vampire. I do have a dining table however, and set upon this table is a half eaten pizza loaded with toppings. Peppers, olives and sausage once made my mouth water with hunger, but now my mouth waters like I’m gonna puke. The smell is so off-putting, like garbage that’s been sizzling under the midday sun. But I welcome the scent because it _does_ successfully dilute that of Jace _._

I stand on the opposite side of the table, the pizza acting as a doughy bodyguard between me and my parabatai.

“Hello! Earth to Alec! You gonna explain the name thing?” Jace waves at me with both hands as though trying to get my attention in a crowd.

“Yes. I can say your name freely now.”

Jace beams at my words. He’s so-fucking-happy to see me. He's looking at me — _a cold, hard, reanimated corpse_ —like I’m some magnificent deity who’s appeared before him. I can _see_ his adoration for me and I can _feel_ it. His feelings filter into mine like mud through a sieve, infusing me slowly and not entirely intact. But his bigger feelings are left behind, too large to fit through the sieves’ gaps. It’s an odd sensation — the fingers of a ghost brushing my abdomen; right over where my parabatai rune faded along with my life.

“Do you _feel that_?” I ask him, already knowing that he can.

“Yes.” Jace lays a hand over his former parabatai rune. “Why do you think our connection is still here, even though the rune isn’t? Our bond is weak, but it wants to endure. I can feel it fighting to survive.”

“It’s an ang— _dammit_.”

“Angelic bond.” Jace finishes for me.

“Yes, it’s _that_ kind of bond. It shouldn’t have survived my death. It’s got to be a miracle. I just wish we knew how to repair it. I’m really scared that it’ll fade away.”

“It won’t.” Jace’s confidence flashes through our bond. “We're gonna figure out how to make it whole again, Alec. I know we will. But first, you have to fill me in on what’s going on here. Let’s start with the name thing.”

_Here goes._

“My sire bans me from speaking your name while in close proximity to him, but he doesn’t care if I say your name while I’m here. Early into my transition I annoyed him by constantly asking for you. I begged him to let me contact you, but after a while he was sick of hearing your name. I’m not allowed to say ‘parabatai’ around him either.”

Jace looks at me like I’m speaking greek. “ _Huh?_ How can he possibly enforce that?”

“My sire isn’t a normal vampire. You’re gonna want to sit down for this.”

Jace needs to get off of that foot; _plus,_ if he’s sitting, his temper is less likely to go supernova when I ‘tell all’. Or mostly all . . . minus Magnus. Jace sitting is a win-win. But my parabatai makes a face like he has no interest in sitting down, only in killing things.

“Speaking of your sire,” Jace points to the wall and, _oh shit,_ my schedule! Deo plastered copies on _every_ wall so I’d have no excuse not to follow his directions. “What the hell, Alec? This guy controls every minute of your life? He tells when you to wake, sleep, exercise, drink and jerk-off?!” Jace yanks one of the schedules from the wall and rips it like junk mail. “What’s going on here? And why haven’t you—” he makes a move toward me, stepping to the right around the table. I also step to the right, away from him so the table stays between us. Jace looks like he wants to kill many things. My parabatai moves to the left and I mirror him, also moving to the left. Mismatched eyes narrow, he's going to kill all of the things (probably starting with this table).

“ _Alec_ ,” Jace's voice balances equal parts warning and annoyance. “I _will_ smash your table into rubble. Stop moving away. I want to hug you, dammit.” My Shadowhunter moves quickly — two steps to the right and four to the left— he’s trying to be unpredictable but, _duh_ , parabatai. I’m faster than Jace and easily parallel his motions, evading like we’re playing an absurd game of ‘keep away’.

“No, Jace. No hugging.” My words are so acidic they barely make it past my teeth. 

“I’ll activate my speed rune and run your vampire ass down.”

He’s not kidding.

“I don’t see your stele.” I raise an eyebrow . . . _where did he stash that thing?_ The toga has no pockets . . . and, _curse me_ , but _I-can’t-fucking-stop_ the image of a stele up his ass from rising in the sludge of my mind. _Hmmm_. . . what else could fit up there . . .? My tongue, my fingers, my coc— _STOP IT._ That image isn’t the only thing rising.

 _Oh, shit, Zeus, this is NOT the kind of 'bone' I wanted you to throw me!_

I turn my back to Jace, trying to imagine unsexy things like Aldertree and Lorenzo Rey dancing (I have no idea why, but the thought is creepy and successfully deflates my arousal).

“Alec! Look at me and stop evading me! I’m not asking again!” Jace is in full-on bossy mode, his tone like a prison guard reprimanding an inmate. But I keep looking at the wall. “Why haven’t you contacted me? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? How much I’ve missed you? I’ve been traveling non-stop for over a day. I haven’t slept. I haven’t sat down. I’m a mess. A mess left behind by a mess!” There’s a loud _thud_ and the table shakes. “I’ve been suffering too, Alec,” Jace’s breath teases the back of my neck, coaxing every hair to prick. Somehow his hot breath makes me shiver. I didn’t know that _I could_ still shiver.

I turn toward him.

Jace is on top of the table, crouched so that we are face-to-face. He’s so close that I could lick his throbbing jugular. I don’t need to taste Jace to know that his flavor will surpass the nephilim blood Deo fed me. My parabatai’s blood is pure. No dilution. And I’m not going to heaven anyway, so biting a nephilim is as close to The Pearly Gates as I’ll ever— STOP IT! Seriously!? Am I trying to justify biting Jace?! No. Never. I can’t. His blood would turn me into . . . I can’t even imagine what kind of barbaric beast I would be. When Deo forced me to drink nephilim it made me a helpless, horned-up fanatic. I was just a sex doll for Magnus to blow. My misery was just a deposit in Deo’s spank bank. I was so desperate to get off, I would have even fucked Deo. Or a hole in the wall. Whichever was presented first. I don’t _ever_ want to feel like _that_ again.

“Alec,” Jace’s voice gently tugs me from my turmoil. “Every moment away from you was unbearable. I love you so much, parabatai.” He reaches toward me but I swat at his fingers like they’re dangling spiders.

“Stop it. Don’t touch me.” My delivery is extra bitchy, but Jace smiles like I’ve recited a love sonnet.

“I just want to feel you.”

“Idiot.” My undead heart clenches along with my jaw. My fangs threaten to bare themselves, but I will them back. I exist to protect Jace. I can’t hurt him. Not ever. What’s. . . _wrong with me_? I lived my mortal life in constant terror that a monster would take him away from me, and now that monster is me! “You’re worse than an idiot, Jace, you’re a stubborn idiot.” I insult him again and he grins like I told him he was the 'handsomest man alive’ (which he is). “You need to sit down already. I’m sick of repeating myself. Just put that foot up and we’ll talk, okay? I’ll tell you everything.” I walk over to the sofa and point. It’s a large sofa so Jace will be able stretch out and relax. “You need to elevate your foot and ice it so the swelling goes down. You should also drawn an iratze.” I don’t ask where his stele is because then I’ll start thinking about his asshole again.

My parabatai stomps toward the sofa like a bratty kid whose been sent to ‘time out’. His body has mostly air-dried so he’s only leaving a tiny water trail. Jace plops upon the cushions and makes a face like they're stuffed with pins verses padding. His foot really hurts. He still looks sexy though. _Of course._ Jace is the only person I know who can make an expression of discomfort look desirable.

“No to the iratze.” Jace says. “The micro-fractures are nearly healed and they need to finish naturally. As far as elevation and ice go . . . _hmmmm ._ . .” he puts a hand to his brow like an explorer surveying uncharted terrain. “I don’t see any throw pillows and your freezer is barren of ice sooooo . . . _hmmm_ . . . ah-ha!” He now points his finger in the air eureka-style. “I know! You can sit with me and I can elevate my foot on your lap while your cold-as-ice hands massage my wearied travelers’ feet.” He wiggles his toes, grinning like he’s just won a trip to the spa.

If I was alive I’d have sighed. Jace’s logic is sound. I want to him to rest his foot on my lap. I want to massage his injury. I want to comfort him. I want to aid his healing in any way that I can. But I don’t. I stay where I am like my sandals have been welded to the stone floor.

Jace looks up at me, tilting his head like an adorable puppy who wants his belly rubbed.

I change the subject: “Why are you wearing my toga?”

Jace rolls his eyes like he’s, well, me. “Changing the subject I see.” He mocks, but answers: “My clothes were soaked with sweat. It’s hot as hell in here, Alec! By the angel, no central air?! And I didn’t exactly pack an overnight bag. I thought we’d be heading back home, not having a slumber party. Why is your entire wardrobe matching togas anyway? I mean, you look good in the toga, to be fair. As do I. And I can’t deny they’re comfy. But, you don’t even have any socks and underwear! I’m goin’ commando right now. I guess we both are. Oh, I used your toothbrush, by the way. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Fuck the toothbrush. The knowledge that Jace is bare-assed under that toga launches my imagination into the filthiest galaxy. I close my eyes and all I can think about is falling to my knees before him; hiking his toga up and showing him how desperate I’ve been to taste him.

“Alec, you got a cramp? Why are you makin’ that face? By the angel, will you please— _please—_ just sit down and talk to me?”

I open my eyes and Jace’s own look weary, like he hasn’t slept in weeks; like he’s terrified to shut his eyes for fear that I’ll vanish.

I’m not worthy of his devotion. I’m such a wretched, perverted creature. I have to send him home. I have to get him away from me. But first, because I'm weak, I do what we both want. I sit down.

Jace’s face goes nuclear with bliss, his smile flaunting those perfect white teeth. My parabatai’s right foot settles upon my lap like a needy house cat. “Rub me with those icy hands!” he orders playfully, and I remind myself that he’s _only_ requesting attention upon his foot.

“Stop fidgeting.” I growl. Jace’s heel is skimming my dick! My fingers hesitate over his foot like it’s a bonfire. If I touch him my self control might burn away, but his broken foot needs the relief of my cold hands. We have a better chance of Poseidon waltzing through the door for a game of ‘Go Fish’ than me NOT getting an erection from this; and with Jace’s foot on my lap he’s gonna _feel it_. . . _so_ . . . I’m gonna have to swallow the most awkward pill of my afterlife and tell my parabatai the truth.

“Jace, umm . . .” I hold his big man foot still so that he doesn’t inadvertently rub against my cock during my confession. “If I rub your foot then I’m . . . I’m going to get an erection.”

Jace raises an eyebrow at me, but he doesn’t budge. I was expecting him to leap away like _I was_ the bonfire. “ _So_ , you have a foot fetish?”

“ _What?_ No! It’s — it’s not like that. My new vampire skin is just hyper-sensitive. And don’t flatter yourself, literally _everything_ I touch stimulates me now. I’d be just as turned-on if you were an old woman.” That last part is a flat-out lie and I pause, counting ten of his heartbeats, waiting to see if he’s detected my lie through our bond.

Jace just . . . shrugs. Once again I recognize that it's a bonafide phenomenon that our bond has endured at all, but it’s mind-boggling why some sensations slip through the bond-sieve and others get clogged.

“It’s fine, Alec. I don’t mind.” Jace says as though potentially getting foot-fucked was a normal part of his massage experiences. “Just rub my foot.”

“You . . . _don’t mind_?” I wasn’t good with uncomfortable conversations when I could breathe, and being unable to breathe hasn’t changed that. I position Jace’s foot so that it presses into my right thigh verses my groin. I caress his ankle, then slide my fingers over his heel and arch. His skin goosebumps under my frigid touch, but he makes no sound of discomfort, rather the opposite. Jace relaxes, nestling into the cushions with a long sigh.

My Shadowhunter has a fragile mortal foot. I have supernatural vampire strength. Strength that I’m still learning how to control. I don’t want to apply too much pressure and bruise him, and so I stroke him as though he were a hatchling bird.

“You can go harder, Alec. You’re not gonna break me.” Jace cracks an eyelid and a smile, gauging my reaction to his _very easily_ misinterpreted words. Is he . . . _teasing_ me?

“Yeah, okay.” If my circulatory system worked I'd be red-faced, my heart pounding. But the only place my blood travels now is south . . . and, _yep,_ it’s plummeting between my thighs, making my cock head due north. _Again._

I apply more pressure and I can feel a tinge of satisfaction through our bond. Jace shuts his eyes again and just looks adorably-sexily perfect. 

_Ugh._ Being close to Jace always affected my libido, especially as an adolescent. But these adolescent vampire hormones overpower me like possession by a lust demon. I have to control my urges. Jace is my best friend. My parabatai. Yes, I’ve always been attracted to him— _wanted him._ I was even in love with him. I don’t think I ever stopped being in love with him. I just got good at ignoring my heart. But Jace’s heart has never wanted mine. Jace’s body has never ached for mine. He’s as heterosexual as I am not. He’s probably slept with more women than I’ve fired-off arrows. I’ve long-accepted that Jace will never love me beyond friendship, brotherhood and parabatai bond. Which is far more than I deserve. I’ve long-embraced his love for Clary. He’s going to marry her very soon. And I’m happy for them. I am. I want Jace to be happy and Clary makes him happy.

If I lose myself to my impulses, make any advance to bite him or touch him . . . what would happen to us? Would he forgive me? _Of course he would._ But at what cost? What’s left of our bond could shatter completely. Our relationship would never be the same. I’d always be the best friend, the brother, the parabatai who _willingly_ tried to hurt him— to touch him how he did not want to be touched.

A bucket of maggots gets dumped into the mixture of rusty nails and bleach boiling in my gut. I imagine these maggots are vessels for my lust and I hope my dead digestion system either dissolves them or that I puke them out. Either way, they gotta go. And so does Jace. He can’t stay here.

Ignorant to my internal rampage, my parabatai shuts his eyes again. He shifts his foot impatiently, urging me to continue his massage. I press my cold hands upon the bridge of his foot, as that area feels the most inflamed. Jace only feeds my lust maggots by releasing a _very_ satisfied groan. It’s the type of low, throaty sound that serenades my balls. I’d like to draw a repeat performance from him with my mouth on his balls. I may be subduing his swelling, but my cock is about to poke a hole through my toga. I swerve my hips away from him, shifting his foot to my knees.

“Jace?”

“ _Hmm_?” My parabatai hums sleepily, his head further sinking into the cushions. His many hours of mundane travel have taken their toll on his body. He’s beyond fatigued — pushed himself over-threshold— and he finally feels content _._ I hesitate to start _this_ conversation now. But our remaining time together is limited. Jace has to be out of here before the sun sets.

“We need to talk about my sire.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for reading! The next chapter is 90% done, so I aim to post within a few days. I apologize for the slowish updates. This story is "slow burn" in the shipping department to begin with, but I write at mundane speed, not vamp speed. ;) I spend an absurd amount of time on this. Please consider leaving a little note if you are reading. It's so inspiring for me to know that you are taking this imagination journey with me! =)  
> Best wishes and be safe, Maia's Pen


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

(Alec)

“We need to talk about my sire.”

Jace’s eyes snap open like _I have_ foot-fucked him. He sits straight up like a cartoon Dracula rising from a coffin. His machine-gun-mouth is about to barrage me with questions, so I get ahead of the assault and raise my hand to halt him.

“Wait, Jace! Me first. I have a lot to say.” I pinch his big toe in warning. “Got it?”

My parabatai makes a face like he’s licked Simon’s big toe, but he nods.

“Okay, good. Well, my sire is known as a ‘vampire ancient’. As you know from reading my schedule, his name is Deo; and Deo is thousands and thousands of years old. I think that he predates this city. He has strength and speed far superior to that of a ‘normal’ vampire; but more importantly, he has other enhanced abilities. Deo can physically control _every_ vampire that he creates. So those vampires who ambushed us in Vermont, even your friend Jumbo Drac, were just victims, Jace. They were slaves to his will, just as I am now. He can make my body into a puppet without freewill. If my sire tells me to sit, I will sit. If he tells me to stand, I will stand. If he tells me to attack, I will attack. And that’s the whole ‘name thing’, if he bans me from saying ‘Jace’, I can’t say ‘Jace’. I physically _can not_ leave the city of Athens. I’m sire-bonded to remain here. Even though I _want_ to leave with you, I can’t do it. My body won’t leave. Do you understand?”

Jace slides his foot from my lap and tucks his legs beneath him, kneeling toward me so that we are eye-level. There is a mighty storm brewing within his eyes, a storm that’s gonna throw hailstones like punches. “So is this some kind of super-vamp-level encanto? An encanto that charms other vampires? He’s-he’s not controlling you now, _is he_?”

Jace's ‘angry face’ is _sexy as fuck_. I cross my legs to hide my erection.

“No. With encanto the victim actually _wants_ to do whatever the vampire is willing them to do. The victim would be genuinely happy to sit or stand, totally oblivious to the influence. I’m completely aware when Deo is controlling me. When it’s happening I always try to fight it, but I’m helpless. I’m like an incapacitated passenger in my own body. That’s why I haven’t contacted you or tried to escape. I _can’t, Jace._ I physically can’t. Some of Deo's control is situational, like saying your name; and some is all encompassing, like my inability to leave Athens or contact you. I’m not even able to send you a text. My body doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

A lightning storm merges with the hailstorm and fury rumbles through our bond like thunder, causing us both to shudder. Jace grabs my hands like the hilts of twin blades, grounding his temper to prevent a murderous-superstorm-melt-down. _But he’s too close to me now._ I flinch and Jace misinterprets why; he thinks he’s gripping me too hard, which is silly: _vampire._ My parabatai’s fingers loosen and slide over my knuckles, caressing my cold skin as if it were Clary’s warm cheek. I feel _every-sinful-pore._ Jace’s hands are capable of breaking bones and hearts. And, while he can’t seriously harm my bones anymore, my heart is fucked. My heavy, dead organ will be his punching bag if I don’t continue to keep him at bay. Jace’s heart on the other hand? It’s an organ of Herculean-strength. And right now his heart is thrashing like a titan locked in Tartars! And that titan wants to go ‘Deo Hunting;’ and if it gets loose all of Greece could be torn asunder.

Even me.

 _Especially me._

Jace’s scent sequesters my senses. The titan inside him has abducted me, stuffing a sack over my head that’s drenched in his blood, and I can’t escape the smell!

“Alec, look at me!”

I didn’t realize my eyes were closed. I open them and regret it.

I’ve seen Jace’s face wrecked by vengeful-fury countless times before . . . but _this_ is a level-of-madness reserved for Clary's well-being, not for mine. And yet, I see his sanity splintering like every god on Olympus cracked his noggin with an axe.

“So your _body . . ._ ‘belongs’ to him?” Jace chews the words like they sicken him, like he’d rather chew on real maggots. I only nod. “Fuck that, Alec. You don’t belong to anyone. Anyone except me. We only belong to each other and with each other.”

Jace’s blood pressure goes volcanic! I can hear—feel—smell the surging blood within veins, arteries and ventricles!

I have to get away from him!

I have to binge on the blood in my fridge!

I have to _try t_ o sate my hunger! _Try!_ Even though I know that an ocean of mundane blood would never be enough — would never satisfy me as much as one drop of his.

Jace’s possessiveness over me is so — _SO_ — hot. And that invisible blood-soaked sack constricts over my face, suffocating me like a plastic bag. It’s not possible for me to asphyxiate; but I’m _feeling_ the effects. My chest tightens as though Jace were sitting on it, pinning me down. I want to pin him down. I _need_ to pin him down. I _need_ to own his body the way Deo owns mine.

_GET AWAY FROM HIM!_

I move to stand but Jace’s fingers are a vice grip on my own, holding my arms and attention hostage.

“This is insane!” Jace roars, and my upstairs neighbors are probably wondering when I adopted an english-speaking lion. “I’ve never heard of a vampire _that_ powerful! Does The Clave even know that Deo exists?”

“Lower your voice.” I snap, and Jace looks like _he_ wants to bite _me,_ but bites his lower lip instead. _“If_ The Clave knows then they haven’t shared the knowledge with peons like us.”

“Are there more vampires like Deo here? What do you know? What am I up against? Do I need back-up?” Jace yanks on my arms like ropes he wants to climb. I want to climb him. Naked. He’s being so gruff, I can _smell_ his testosterone rising.

“No, Deo—-he’s the-the . . . o-nly ancient I’ve—s-seen.” My words are strangled by desire. I turn my face away from Jace, desperate to dull his scent. My mouth stings like I’ve been smacked — my gums are raw, my fangs are aching to be unsheathed; to sink into the tip of that _Heightened Speed_ rune on his neck. The irony is not lost on me that my Yin fen will dull Jace’s reflexes; make him helpless _to_ run away.

I’ve never bitten anyone . . . all of my meals have been from a bag or a vial . . . what will breaking skin feel like? Will I be able to stop? Will I loose—

“Alec! Stop looking away from me.”

I hiss like feral cat, jerking my hands from his and my vamp-speed launches me across the room! I fall against the far wall, smacking my nose against it _hard._ If I were mortal it would have fractured. I move toward the bedroom door and grip the frame like there’s an earthquake, like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. I keep my entire front facing the door and my back to Jace. My fangs are free and I don’t want Jace to see me like this!

But I still need to see him . . .

I’m so weak. I’m so pathetic. And I glance over my shoulder. My parabatai is moving to stand, but I shake my head like a dog trying to throw off fleas, effectively stopping him.

“NO! Stay where you are!” I don’t recognize my voice as my own — it’s sharper than my fangs and lower than my morals. I vomit words like they’re maggots, rusty nails and bleach: “Just listen to me! _PLEASE!_ I really don’t know what Deo is, but he’s beyond a vampire, Jace. He’s extremely dangerous. _I’m_ extremely dangerous! I want to bite you right now!”

“Okay, Alec. I understand. Take a moment to collect yourself. I’m right here.” Jace speaks like some fuckin’ therapist, but he's eyeing me like I’m a hunt target. _Thank the devil, thank Zeus_ , I’ll kiss both of their asses: Jace is actually listening to me —he sees that I’m dangerous— and his own ass remains on the sofa.

I press my forehead into the door, begging my fangs retract. But I have as much control over them as I do over my dick.

“Alec, _please_ , help me to understand better. So Deo can control you, _okay,_ but can he do it through written word too? I mean, what’s up with all of these rules hanging on every single wall? Why is he telling you when to jerk-off?”

Talking through my fangs is like talking with a mouthful of needles. Scarlet tints my vision, but I hold my tears. I don’t want Jace to see me cry blood. I don’t want Jace to see my fangs. I don’t want Jace to see my erection. But Jace needs to see what I am now. He’s seen enough monsters that my appearance won’t scare him, but the fact that _this monster is me_ should shake him. Shake him enough that he leaves.

This would be a great time to take a deep breath, _but fuck._

I rotate toward him. I curl back my lips. I blink. I let my hands fall to my sides, allowing Jace a free-for-all view of fangs, bloody tears and the blatant bulge beneath my toga.

Jace looks anything but shaken. His nephilim eyes absorb all of my monstrous shame; washing over me with _such tenderness_ that I cry harder. I’m crumbling like a statue that can no longer stand up to wind and rain and sun. The elements have beaten me down. My life. My marriage. My family. My career. Everything is gone. _Magnus broke my heart._ He betrayed me. He betrayed Jace. And, yet . . . I’m so weak and pathetic that _I still love him._ I’m tired. I’m lonely. And I’m so unworthy of Jace's tenderness. I’ve been fantasizing about biting him — sucking him— fucking him! And he knows it — he can _see it!_ So why is he still here? Why doesn’t he just run away?

“It’s okay, parabatai. I love you and I'm here for you.” Jace’s voice is as warm as his embrace would be; but —despite being stupid enough to walk into _Kακία—_ he’s not stupid enough to walk toward me. Jace recognizes a vampire in ‘feeding mode’. You don’t try to pet rabid dog who’s starving. “I’m right here. I’m not gonna leave you.”

“I need to feed.” I seethe the obvious and then choke down the next dose of my humiliation: “Another ‘perk’ of being sired by an ancient is the effect that feeding has on me, Jace. Blood activates any feelings and urges that I repressed in life. But the potency is like a thousand fold stronger. And, apparently I was . . . _sexually repressed_ in life.”

Jace looks at me like I've told him that werewolves have fur. “Well, that’s not really a surprise,” he says, “at least not before you met Magnus. Pre-Bane you were buttoned-up tighter than a nun. **”** His delivery is so deadpan that it effectively quells my tears and retracts my fangs; but unfortunately my boner is still goin' strong.

This is so beyond embarrassing, but I power-through with my explanation: “When I drink blood my arousal-level is _out-of-control_. The bloodlust gets replaced by actual lust. It’s ravenous. Worse than I am right now. I never experienced _anything_ like this in my mortal body. I would fuck anyone. I _will_ fuck anyone. And I can’t stop myself until, _um_ , you know, my arousal has been _relieved_.”

Jace ascends from the sofa slowly, like steam from volcanic rock. He balls his fists, his knuckles bleach and tremble; blue-brown eyes scan my apartment for _something_ to hit. I think my sofa may be in trouble.

“ _Alec_ ,” Jace states my name like it’s a fact; like my name was the answer to every question ever asked. “Is your . . .” he pauses, his words sticking in his mouth like toffee. “Is your sire making you . . . have sex with _him_?”

“No.” I answer quickly so that Jace spares the furniture. “Deo promised me that he would never make me do, _you know_ , anything with him.”

Jace still wants to bash my sofa into oblivion. His heart beats like he’s been stamina runed; his entire face is flushed; he’s staring at me like it’s _unbearable_ — like he’s imagining me performing sexual acts with Deo. “So, does your sire watch you jerk-off or—”

“No!” I stop Jace from finishing his sentence, only to fumble over my own like I’m rolling down a hill. “I mean, I think, well, I _know_ he wants to, umm . . . you know, do ‘sex stuff’ with me. Like he flirts with me pretty hard, but, I mean he won’t. Our relationship isn’t, _um,_ like that.”

“Your _r-relationship_?” The word is so sour Jace actually gags on it. “Then why is he doing this? If not to make you his sex-slave or whatever, then why did he kill you and abduct you and take you away from me?!”

“He. . .” My lips can’t betray the mouth they still love. Deo has not sire-banned me this time; _I_ just can’t say ‘Magnus’. “Deo just wants me to work for him. He makes me work as a bouncer in his club. Hence this dress code,” I gesture to both of our togas, "and he provides me with this apartment and blood. He even pays me and mentors me, in his own messed-up way. But I have no loyalty to him, Jace. I need you to kill him. I need you to free me from his hold. But until you’re at full strength again you can’t even try it. And, until then, you have to stay away from me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You would never hurt me on purpose.” Jace delivers the line like he’s reciting a ‘well-known Alec fact’. To him the words are true. But I know better. I may not _want_ to hurt him _right now_ , but when I’m close to him . . . _I do._ I want to bite him. I want to drink him. I want to fuck him. And those actions are all gonna hurt him. “So, what then?” Jace continues, “you’re just gonna continue living here, all alone? Dressin’ like a greek stripper and workin’ the club? Just blood-binging and fucking anyone who’s down to fuck? You’re just gonna diligently jerk-off twice a day? Follow Deo’s assigned routine?! _This_ is your existence?! You actually want me to leave you trapped in this cycle?! Leave without even _trying to_ break that mother-fucker’s face?!”

I need to toss ice-water on his temper before his toga starts to smoke.

“Yes, _um_ , well, yes-ish. You can’t go after Deo now. It’s suicide. I can hear you limping from a mile away. And, I am here alone, but I’m okay.” I lie. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

Jace scoffs at my words and starts to limp-pace around the sofa: “As though it were _even possible_ for me _not_ to worry about you.”

“ _Also_ ,” I push onward, “ _so we’re clear,_ I’m not fucking anyone. Magnus is . . .” I grant myself five of Jace’s heartbeats to sort out my words, “. . . the only one I’ve ever been with like that. But I have to adhere to the schedule to keep it that way. I have to ‘diligently jerk-off’ because it’s the only thing keeping me from becoming some serial killer-rapist.”

“You would never kill or rape anyone.” Jace continues reciting— what he believes are— more ‘well-know Alec facts’. “But your sire is another story. This isn’t adding up, Alec. You were clearly hand-picked by this ancient fucker. He brought you all the way to Greece! He can’t be that desperate for a bouncer.” Jace pauses his pacing and smirks, dripping so much arrogance he’s gonna stain my floor. “Let’s be honest, if Deo was looking for the better fighter, he would have turned me.”

“He knew I’d look better in the toga.”

“Or that you’d be more willing to take _it_ up the ass.”

I grace him with not one of my middle fingers, but two.

Jace grunts with amusement and surrenders onto the sofa again. _Thank goodness,_ because his gimping was maddening. “I get why you haven’t called. You physically can’t. But I can use a phone.” He shifts like he’s about to get up. “I’ll go grab mine. I put my stuff in the bedroom. We can call Clary, Izzy and Magnus right now; a good ole’ FaceTime will convince them that you’re indeed a vampire. Then they can portal here and we’ll take down Deo together. Free you from this nightmare.”

“No!” The alarm in my voice causes Jace to spring to his feet. “You can’t! You’ll only put Izzy and Clary in danger.”

Jace narrows his eyes into slits that a flea couldn’t limbo through. “What about Magnus?”

“He . . .” The truth lodges in my throat and the lie can’t pass it by.

“He already knows you’re here, doesn’t he? I fuckin’ knew it!” Jace whips around and kicks my sofa, sending a cushion flinging against the far wall. “Magnus has been acting like a freak-show for weeks. He’s been obsessed with me accepting your death. In fact he’s the reason that I knew to look for you in Athens. He came here a few weeks ago on ‘warlock business’. Did he find you? Why didn’t he rescue you? Why didn’t he tell me?! Why didn’t _you_ tell me right away?!”

I think my mouth is broken.

Jace lifts another cushion and drop kicks it like a football, punting it into the kitchen.

“What the fuck, Alec?!” My neighbors are going to call animal control about the english-speaking lion. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here? Magnus and the girls, _and literally everyone,_ are acting like they’re brainwashed! Did Deo use his mega-watt encanto on them or something? Can he control non-vampires?”

“I don’t know.” I’m not lying, but I’m not telling the truth either. “But Magnus does know I’m here. I saw him.”

“And?!” There goes the last cushion. This one Jace throws into the air and punches! It bursts like a piñata filled with springs and foam. 

“And that’s it. I saw him.”

If I tell Jace about Magnus working with Deo to make me immortal; the blow job forced on me; my heartbreak; then my parabatai will try to burn _Kακία_ to the ground and he’ll be dead before sunrise.

“You just _‘saw him_ ’?” Jace is about as satisfied with my answer as a dehydrated person would be drinking sand. “ _Well_ , if Magnus didn’t rescue you then Deo must be somehow controlling him too.”

I hold absolutely still as Jace draws the wrong conclusion. His brain could _never fathom_ that Magnus would purposely harm me, let alone have me killed and turned into a vampire. Of course, until I heard it from my husband’s own lips, I could never have fathomed it either.

“Fortunately I’m immune to Deo’s encanto-brainwashing-whatever-the-fuck. Must be a parabatai perk. But, Clary, Izzy, Magnus, _everyone_ could be in danger if Deo realizes I’m not actually one of his Stepford Wives. I guess we’re on our own for now. We’ve got to figure out why he _actually_ murdered _you._ Why _you?_ This just isn’t adding up.”

“Yeah.” I say. I _hate_ lying to Jace and — for the only time ever — I’m thankful our bond is too weak for him to feel my deceit. “Hey, does Magnus, _um_ ,know you’re in Athens?”

“No. No one does. They all think I’m in Paris drowning my soul’s sorrows in hot chocolate and lattes. I’m not expected home for a week and I’ve already covered my ass in the ‘tracking department’, so don’t nag me about that.”

My relief nearly knocks me out. Maybe Zeus really did ‘throw me a bone’? Well, other than the one under my toga.

“Shit though.” Jace is clearly disappointed that he’s out of cushions to abuse. I study my parabatai’s face and I know what’s going on inside that hunter’s head. Jace is trying to mash random puzzle pieces of intel together, and then crushing them when they don’t fit. For every ounce of impulsiveness inside of Jace he also has a pound of smarts; and his detective instincts are rarely wrong. He already suspected that Magnus knew I was alive. He was clever enough to ‘play along’ with my dead charade so that he could sneak off to Greece. I need to sit on this lie for now, but I have to figure out what to do before Jace hatches it on his own.

“So, is Izzy okay? What about Max? Mom? Dad? Clary? Simon?”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone’s hunky-fuckin’-dory. They all got over your death like you were a goldfish. Clary and Magnus are busy re-planning the wedding. It’s been rescheduled for July 1st, and you sure-as-fuck are gonna be there. I’m gonna make you piggy-back me down the aisle like you promised.”

Every word is a blow to my heart, but I nod. “Of course, Jace. I want that too.”

My parabatai looks like he’s been swimming through quicksand for weeks. He’s beyond fatigued, beyond frustrated, and I wish that I could hold him. I wish that he could fall asleep in my arms. But instead I tell him that he has to go: “Now you know why you can’t stay here, Jace. _You have to go back home_. Play along with being _over_ me. Be safe, not stupid. Bide your time and don’t come back until your foot is healed.”

I need time too.

I need to sort out what I’m going to do about Magnus. If Jace does go home, heal and return to slay Deo, will Magnus intercept him? Will Magnus back-up Deo in the fight? Without Clary around to make Jace ‘go golden’, I don’t know if he can take them both, and I won’t be able to help him.

And what about my family and friends? Will Magnus ever release them from his ‘Alec is dead-dead’ spell? If Jace is successful and brings me back to New York, what will happen? Will Magnus come after me again? Will he go after Jace? Or will he just let this go?

_Let me go?_

I know that Magnus cares about Jace and that Jace cares about Magnus; but if Jace learns the truth then he’ll only care about revenge. My parabatai’s impulsiveness will overthrow his smarts and he'll attack in a blind-fury. A fury that neither of them may survive. I can’t allow Magnus and Jace to kill each other over my (literal) dead body. I have to protect them from each other. _But how?_

What am I going to do?!

The walls decide that they want to play ‘spin the bottle’ and use me as the bottle. The fancy decor, my schedules and Jace’s face fold into a trippy- kaleidoscopey-blur. I lean against the bedroom door, steadying my legs, my sanity, and then study my sandaled feet until I can count all ten toes again.

Apparently vampires can have panic-attacks. I shouldn’t be surprised though, I think Simon exists in a panic-attack.

“Alec?!” Jace’s shouts like I’ve just been split in two. I can sense that he wants to come to me, to hold me.

“No!” I look from my golden sandals to his golden head. “I’m fine. I’m just dizzy from fighting these urges. Dammit, Jace! It’s torture to be near you. You need to go home. Regain your full strength.”

“I’ll never be at full strength without you. And I’m not leaving you here to be Deo’s toy.” Jace closes the distance between us in four long strides and — though I see his arms coming — I’m too selfish to dodge his embrace.

My parabatai holds me like I’m _everything_ and he’s _nothing._ Like I’m the center of his entire universe and —without my gravitational pull— he’s damned to spiral out of control.

“Everyone thinks that ‘Jace Wayland is so strong’, but my strength _is you_ , Alec.” For a moment I wonder if Jace’s words have jump-started my heart? My entire chest feels like it’s been cracked open and sunlight is pouring inside me; but it’s not painful, the sensation is warm and welcoming and—-

Jace’s strong arms encircle my torso and his fingers find refuge grabbing the fabric over my hips. Jace plants his chin upon my left shoulder and tilts his head so that his temple heats my cheek. He presses his chest into mine like he’s trying to crush a rock between us. His body reminds mine how _beautifully mortal_ he is: chest hair slick with sweat and rising and falling with ease; heart thumping wildly. My parabatai's living body is strong, fit and powerful; but if my vampire arms squeezed him — _just a bit too tightly—_ he would break. I forbid my arms from retuning his devotion. I join Jace in grabbing my toga instead. I grip the fabric so hard that it starts to disintegrate like ash. I crane my neck upward, I focus on the vent in the ceiling. I count twenty metal slots that cold air _would_ blow through if I had central air. I’m trying not to smell him— _by the devil— I’m trying!_

My wax-sculpturesque affection inspires Jace to hold me tighter — as though his body heat will melt my dead, cold vampire shell like real wax— and beneath will be _his_ living _,_ warm parabatai again. Jace shifts upward and onto his toes, pushing into me more boldly; trying to crush more stones between our thighs, our abdominals . . . our hips — _fuck—_ his pelvis rocks against mine. My cock is one stone that he isn’t gonna be able to crush. Jace can _feel_ my hardness against him; but he doesn’t jolt away, he continues hugging me as though it were totally normal to have a big, hard cock pressing into his own. He’s not aroused, _of course_ , his embrace is innocent. But while I ‘ _need to fuck’,_ he’s just ‘ _needy as fuck’._ My parabatai is so desperate to touch me that he’ll willingly let my arousal bruise him.

Jace does successfully crush one stone between us.

My heart.

“Stop it!” I shout like Jace has stabbed me and wriggle against him, trying to shake him off. But my parabatai was always the better wrestler, and he easily reaffirms his grip around me — compressing like he wants my head to pop off! _Well, it might_ . . . but it isn’t going to be the northern one. In these skimpy togas one abrupt motion could mean my bare cock on his!

_No! No! NO!_

“Dammit, Jace!” I bust-out my vamp strength, twisting out of his hold, and I shove him backward. Jace flies like a kitty tossed by a gorilla! His ass hits the floor and he slides at least ten feet!

Jace winces, but swiftly regains his footing just like a real kitty would. He rubs his backside like he’s just been spanked. His asscheeks are certainly swollen, but better those than his asshole; which is what I _would have wrecked_ if he’d clung to me for a moment more. 

Jace looks at me, his expression debating between awe and sympathy, and I don’t want either!

“Alec, it doesn’t bother me. I just need to be close to you.” My parabatai spurts absurdity like a broken fountain. “You being turned-on doesn’t make me uncomfortable, okay? So you don’t need to be uncomfortable either. I can ignore it—”

“Ignore _it_?! That’ll be challenging when I’m ramming _it_ into your ass. You’re playing Russian Roulette right now, Jace. Do you understand? I’m a hungry, horny animal!”

“Don’t say that! I’ll stop you before you can hurt me, okay? I promise. I won’t let it get that far. But I need to be close to you. Alec, _please._ ”

“I thought your foot was broken not your brain!” I snarl so fiercely that my neighbors are probably calling the cops or shitting their pants. “Haven’t you listened to _anything_ I’ve told you?! ANYTHING?! Shit, Jace! Stop being stupid! Stop being selfish! Now I have to go and deal with . . . _this_.” I lower my hands to cover my toga bulge, then lower my voice too. “Just sit down and put that foot up. I have to drink blood and, well, _you know what_. I’m gonna lock myself in the bedroom for a while. This is ‘me time’, so don’t interrupt unless you wanna get your throat and asshole torn open. I don’t trust myself around you and you shouldn’t either.”

“I trust you.”

“Well, then you’re a fool!” I unleash my fangs, spitting like a viper with every intention to freak him out.

But . . .

Jace just stares at me blankly, wholly unimpressed with my ‘scary face’. “I’m a vampire. I’m dangerous. So just stay here. I’ll come out when I’m done.”

“How long will you be in there?”

“It’ll take at least an hour for the bloodlust to subside.”

Jace shrugs like I’ve told him I’m popping out to grab a coffee. My eyebrow twitches. 

“You can crash here today.” I tell him as I approach my fridge. “Get a few hours of sleep, and then we can figure out what flight to send you home on. You have to be gone before sunset.”

Per my scheduled allowance: I take five blood bags from the fridge. And then I grab one more. I’m gonna need to be blood-stuffed to survive Jace’s scent today. I’m so off of my schedule at this point, what’s a little more rebellion?

I look at the kitchen clock and it’s only 3:42AM. Deo should still be involved in his orgy and hasn’t realized I’m gone yet. I’ll be drinking and jerking several hours earlier than I should. But this aught to calm my craving and, hopefully, allow me to sleep on schedule. Not that I‘ll really be able to rest with Jace here, but he needs the shuteye more than I do. He’s in no condition to travel until he’s recharged. He’s not thinking clearly right now. I’ll be fine sleeping on the cushionless couch, and my bedroom will be comfortable for Jace. I’ll insist that he sleeps with his seraph blade.

“Fine. I won’t interrupt you, Alec.” Jace actually agrees and I fake-exhale as a show of relief. But . . . leave it to my parabatai to deliver my relief a swift deathblow. “Do what you need to do. But I’m not gettin’ on any airplane. I _refuse_ to leave you here.”

I pretend that Jace said nothing at all.

Though my eyes hate me, I don’t even glance at him as I enter my bedroom.

“I know you heard me.”

I shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh, Parabatai Drama! Poor Alec is in quiet the pickle. Hmm. . . how is the parabatai sleepover going to go? Do you think Alec will be able to keep his fangs outta Jace? Will Jace be able to resist clinging to Alec like sticky saran wrap? Will Alec be able to convince Jace to get outta Greece and go back to NYC? How long is Deo's orgy going to last for?! That guy's got some stamina! ;P Thank you for reading and I *REALLY* look forward to reading your comments. Your feedback inspires me to keep on writing. =) Best wishes, Maia's Pen


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 is below PLUS . . . I HAVE ART!!! I commissioned my favorite artist, Wooserr, to create cover art for this story. I love his comic book / anime style. Wooserr was awesome enough to create not one **but TWO** different cover options for me and I need your help to decide which one to use. 
> 
> These are also up on my up on my instagram: maias_pen (link included) and on my Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/maiaspen/jalec-parabatai/  
> Version One: pale moonlight  
> Version Two: blood moonlight (red, torn fabric for drama)  
> Please leave me a comment and let me know which version you prefer.

Find me on Instagram so we can be pals:<https://www.instagram.com/maias_pen/>

Chapter 10

(Jace)

Dying didn’t make Alec any less difficult. He’s still stubborn, awkward, irritable and a ‘know-it-all’. He’s also the strongest, most courageous and selfless being on earth.

Alec is a vampire who should be ordained as a saint. He has had everything and everyone he loves torn away from him. He’s been turned into a fucking slave. And yet, _as always_ , he puts himself last. My parabatai only thinks of everything and everyone else.

I’m the opposite. I want what I want, and I want him. And I'm so selfish that I _want_ myself at the forefront of his mind. I don’t wanna share that space with anyone. Not even his husband. Magnus can have a seat in Alec’s ‘mind corner’ and watch me hogging the spotlight. My parabatai needs to think of me-me-me and first-first-first. Anything else is unacceptable. _Well,_ his desire to eat me can vamoose; but ‘Jace-blood cravings’ aside, I _need_ Alec to think of me most of all. I need him to, because I’m struggling to remember any face or name that isn't’ his. I think my body generated a new rune: Alec’s image; and put him on the inside of my eyelids. Those dark-brooding-ravenous-lusty-lonely eyes are on me, even when mine are closed. And, even though Alec’s mouth is telling me to go home, his eyes are begging me to stay.

And so I’m staying.

It will take every vampire in _Kακία_ to drag me away from Alec, and even then . . . _nah, no chance._ Alec says he can’t physically leave the city of Athens — that Deo sire-bonded him to stay put. Well, then I’m parabatai-bonded here. I can’t physically leave either.

My stubborn-awkward-irritable-‘know-it-all’ parabatai shut himself into his bedroom with six blood bags, and then reemerged an hour later looking like he’d wrestled a werewolf. Or been fucked by one (it’s a test of stamina, I would know). Alec didn’t even glance at me, he just stumbled like a drunk into the bathroom and slammed the door. He slammed it so hard that three paintings fell off the wall. I’ve heard the shower running ever since.

I’m respecting Alec’s privacy and leaving him alone. But it’s _not easy._ _‘Not_ easy’ as in: ‘I’d rather be waterboarded with week-old vomit than ever have a door separate us again’. I mean, _okay_ , my rational mind doesn’t _want_ to watch Alec guzzle blood, wank-off, and then shower-off the results; _but_ my Alec-deprived body urges me to kick down any door that dares to separate us.

I start pacing like the world is ending.

Alec is ashamed of his vampire biology. But shame does not exist between parabatai. His fangs don’t scare me. His bloody tears just hurt my heart. And his erection just _is what it is_ ; it doesn’t bother me. I love every bone in Alec’s body, including that one, _I guess . . .er?_ I mean . . . it’s a part of Alec and, _hmmm,_ maybe I won’t say _that_ out-loud because it sounds super gay, and might make him wanna give me ‘said bone’ even more than he already does. And I don’t want that! But, _ahhh_ . . . _shit_. I’m fumbling over my ‘mental words’ like Alec fumbles over his real ones. My parabatai can confidently address a committee of Clave delegates without missing a beat, but speaking about his ‘feelings’ . . .

I sigh out loud.

Alec would have an easier time shooting the sun outta the sky with a slingshot than telling me what he’s _really_ feeling. When he was alive, this wasn’t an issue because I could just _feel_ Alec’s moods through our bond. Granted our bond _is_ clearer now than it has been since he died, but _feeling him_ is like receiving a message with Morse Code verses an instant text. And, what little I am feeling is up for interpretation.

I know what _I feel_ : the need to be physically close to Alec. But he believes that our closeness will drive him into Bitey-Sexy Town. When Alec was crying he was in ‘feed or flight’ mode. I’ve seen new vampires in this state countless times. Alec’s rational brain was overrun by instinct, _and he was hungry_. But he didn’t bite me. Not that he’d succeed in biting me anyway, because I’d never let him. Alec may be incredibly strong, but I know how to restrain a snapping vampire and — parabatai or not — he ain’t snackin’ on me.

Alec is suffering. I’m suffering and — _shit, ouch_ . . .my foot is suffering too. Pacing is not a good life choice, but I can’t possibly sit still as I wait for Alec’s shower to conclude.

_What’s taking him so long? Is he washing each strand of hair individually?!_

I might as well be useful while I wait.

I re-hang the three paintings that his door-slamming dropped.

_Still waiting . . ._

I search the kitchen, find a garbage bag and begin cleaning the mess I made of his sofa. Alec’s living room looks like it hosted a werewolf pillow fight. There are chunks of foam and scraps of fabric scattered high and low. In my defense I was imagining Deo’s face when I attacked those cushions. I committed his face to memory. While forced onto my knees I had a perfect view of Alec’s executioner. Though Deo appeared younger than me, I now know he’s old as fuck — and dangerous as fuck too. Deo was _so cavalier_ as he sunk his fangs into Alec. That vampire devastated my heart without ever even touching me.

I shove a handful of torn fabric into the trash bag. I imagine that each bit of rubbish is one of Deo’s entrails. As if murdering and enslaving Alec wasn’t already winning Deo ‘heinous mother fucker of the year’, he has somehow brainwashed my friends and family too. He’s cast his ‘creepy shit’ on Clary. And I like ‘creepy shit’ happening to Clary about as much as I like ‘creepy shit’ happening to Alec. But there is an intensity difference: hurt Clary and I’ll kill you. Hurt Alec and I’ll kill you and everyone who’s stupid enough to know you. _Oh,_ and blow-up every spot of ground unfortunate enough to have had you walk upon it.

The only upside is that my friends and family appear oblivious and happy-go-lucky. There seems to be no ill-effects from Deo’s influence. But if Alec’s sire is powerful enough to control Magnus —make him behave like a clingy lunatic— then I have to take his threat very seriously. Though I’m immune to the influence, Deo obviously thinks I’m not. And so he can’t know I’m here until I’m confident that I can best him. It’s not only Alec who’s at his mercy; it’s Clary, Izzy and all the Lightwoods, Magnus, Simon, Luke and possibly the entire Clave too.

Why did Deo even turn and abduct Alec?

Alec’s reasoning that Deo ‘wanted a bouncer’ for his club is absurd. I might’ve bought that _if_ Alec said that Deo was fucking him, because desire make vampires act impulsively. But I can’t believe that Deo _just saw_ Alec in Vermont, felt Cupid’s arrow, and decided that he needed to steal him forever. It couldn’t be _that_ simple . . . could it?

I mean, if Deo is from ancient greek times I guess that would be normal behavior. Greek mythology is crammed with tales of gods seeing something they want and just taking it; usually Zeus helping himself to some beautiful woman. Deo obviously identifies with Zeus (given the massive statue inside _Kακία),_ and has a major ‘god-complex’ . . . _ugh_ . . . but to go to the trouble of brainwashing everyone in New York?! And: _when the hell did he even have time or opportunity to do that?_! Deo must have jumped through some literal god-sized hoops to pull this off, and all just to have Alec and. . .

 _Shit._ I get it.

I would jump through god-sized hoops and hypnotize the entire world if it meant keeping Alec by my side. _But, still,_ what am I missing?! I feel like I’m searching for a shard of glass in an olympic-sized swimming pool. The answer is right _here —_ I keep feeling for it — but I won’t find it until it pricks me and makes me bleed.

I finish cleaning and start squinting like there’s sand in my eyes. But if there’s sand it’s from _The_ SandMan. I am tired. But I’m fighting off sleep like Alec’s life depends on it. Angel-knows I’ve spent enough time sleeping while comatose. I’m not gonna waste time unconscious when I could be conscious with Alec. The only way I _could_ entertain the notion of sleep would be if Alec was laying with me. It’s not enough to know that he’s within the same walls, he needs to be in my arms.

I hear the shower turn off — _finally —_ and leap onto the sofa. With two battered cushions and one missing, it’s not very comfortable; but I don’t want Alec to bitch at me for being upright. I’m so sweaty that my back slides against the leather cushions like lubed naughty bits. Only it’s not sexy-hot, it’s just hot-hot. Alec’s apartment is the inside of an oven that’s been cranked to the max. When I get hungry later there’ll be no need to re-heat my pizza, it’s probably still cooking just sitting on Alec’s table.

The bathroom door swings open like Alec punched it. I’m surprised it didn’t fly off it’s hinges. My parabatai storms-out like he’s just been _in_ a rainstorm. Alec is drenched, wearing only a red towel around his waist. He’s holding a second towel in his right hand. His hair looks like a raven who’s also been caught in the downpour — dark hairs plaster to his forehead like matted feathers. And his expression is about what I’d expect _if_ a wet bird were really nesting on his head. The droplets of water are taking a joyride down his torso. _Damn, Alec’s really been working out_ . . . his pectorals and abs are chiseled just like one of those naked statues in his kitchen. If I jabbed his stomach with a finger my nail might crack.

Alec doesn’t acknowledge me and begins drying his hair with the second towel. I try not to look at his lower ‘towel area’, but it pops against his pale skin — red like bullseye — and now my face feels red too.

_Stop it, Jace! He’s gonna think you’re meat-gazing!_

_Well, maybe he shouldn’t be standing in his kitchen half naked! What else am I gonna look at?_

I thought I’d felt _every inch_ of Alec’s body over the years. While wrestling we’d twist each other into countless hold-types. Sure, our groins have occasionally bumped or skimmed across the others. No big deal. But I’ve never actually felt Alec _hard_. But, when I hugged him, I sure felt it. And it was hard. The only hard cock I’ve ever felt aside from my own, and — _I swear to the angel_ — if Alec is bigger than me I’ll be pissed. Well, not that I’m ever gonna find out because I’m never gonna actually _see_ his dick.

 _Obviously._

I don’t want to see or touch Alec’s cock, but if _it_ accidentally touches _me_ , it’s okay. It’s a microscopic price to pay to be close to him . . . only not microscopic _at all._ Damnit, his cock really felt large. Like ‘porn star large’ . . . there’s _no way_ Magnus ever took _that_ up his ass. Alec must be the bottom bitch. Unless Magnus has some kinda magical elastic assho— _oh, by the angel—_ am I really _even thinking_ about the logistics of Alec's and Magnus’ sex life?!

Alec clears his throat ‘mortal style’ and my sight retreats to his face. _Yep. I’ve been staring at his crotch this entire time. Great._ My parabatai raises one eyebrow like he’s studying me through a monocle. But Alec's study is fleeting and he continues fluffing his semi-dry hair. Droplets fling against the wall and floor and my mouth feels dry.

“Hey, can you grab me a water? Please?” I call to Alec, acting like I’ve been resting with my foot up this entire time.

Alec looks at me like he’s the one who broke my foot and he wants to die. Again. “I’m sorry, Jace, I-I don’t have any cups . . .”

“Yeah, I know. I grabbed a pack of bottled water along with the pizza. There are bottles next to your ‘bigger dick guy’ statue.” Both of the statues in his kitchen are male; I point to the one whose artist was more generous with his endowment.

Alec narrows his eyes like he’s scrutinizing me through binoculars. “You named the statues?"

“Yeah, ‘bigger dick guy’ and ‘smaller dick guy’. Keepin’ it simple.”

My parabatai performs a prize-winning eye-roll, and I would give him a standing ovation if my standing wouldn’t piss him off.

“I know you’ve been walking around, Jace. I could hear you. I appreciate you cleaning up the mess, but you shouldn’t have. You need to rest that foot.”

I raise my pointer finger and draw an invisible halo over my head. “ _Me?_ Disobey my parabatai? How could you even think so lowly of me? I didn’t clean up, it was the magical greek cleaning elves.”

“Don’t get up again.” Alec points at me like a scolding schoolmarm.

“You gonna carry me to the bedroom then? Cuz I’m not sleepin’ on this lumpy sofa.” I make face like I’m laying on rocks.

“It’s only lumpy because of your own bad temper.” ‘Alec The Multitasker’ berates me while continuing to shake the excess water from his hair.

“And I _did_ clean up the mess, didn’t I?”

Alec’s eyes shrink to a ‘peering through a microscope’ level squint. “I thought you said the ‘magical greek cleaning elves’ did that?”

I grin because — while Alec might look like a curmudgeon — he’s bantering with me! Bantering in his own spectacularly-sarcasticly-Alecy-way. 

Alec’s ‘me time’ must’ve really relaxed him. Nothin’ like a full stomach and an empty ballsack to turn a day around! Feelings of apprehension still spin within him like clothes in the wash; but they are _quieter —_ like someone pulled the plug and the machine is winding down.

The monstrous hunger within Alec has been sated; but a sated monster is still a monster and he’s going to get hungry again. Although Alec is convinced that he would’ve tried to bite me and fuck me (his words), I’m not. Did he want to? _Yes._ But wanting something and taking it are very different. I’m the ‘impulsive half’ of our parabatai, not him. I believe that if Alec were going to attack me, he would have already done it. But I can’t let my optimistic belief in Alec make me lazy around him either. If he goes into ‘feed or flight’ mode again I need to be on guard, even though I don’t want to be.

Alec spots the water bottles and brings me one. He smells good; like a pine tree humped some lemon grass and sprouted a new baby plant. I like his body wash, _heck_ , we smell the same since I used his body wash to shower too. Or at least I _did_ smell like him. This hellish climate probably has me reeking onion-bro-style now.

The water is hot, but despite the temperature I drink like I haven’t drunk in days. I mean, this water is _really hot._ I’m surprised the plastic didn’t melt. If Alec had any teabags I’d be all set. The warm wetness is still somehow refreshing and rejuvenates my lips. I could probably go down on Clary for an hour if the rest of me wasn’t so tired.

“You look exhausted.” Alec says, and he sounds like he says I look.

“But still handsome, _right_?” I whack his bare thigh with the empty water bottle.

Alec snatches the bottle, crushing it like a paper cup. He considers my grinning face for a moment. “You’re always handsome, Jace.”

I know I’m blushing and that knowledge only makes me blush deeper. _Dammit._ I was prepared for a cheeky insult, not a compliment. I pretend to yawn into my hands to cover my red cheeks. “Yeah, I’m like the real Adonis, huh? Totally flawless.”

Alec fake-gags. “I take it back.”

Teasing my parabatai pales my cheeks to normal color again.

Alec turns and heads toward the bedroom. I watch his footfalls leave watery prints on the marble.

“Where are you _gooooingggg_?” I call after him, drenching my tone in neediness like his body is drenching the floor.

Alec keeps walking. “To finish drying off and put on some clothes to sleep in.”

“You mean a toga. You don’t own any clothes.”

“Yes. I mean a toga.”

“You sleep in a toga?”

“Not normally, no.”

“So you sleep naked? So do I.”

Alec stiffens like he’s a mundane at gunpoint, but doesn’t look at me. “No one is sleeping naked under this roof today. Got it?”

‘Alec the grouch’ doesn’t wait for me to answer, he just opens the bedroom door. I don’t want him to leave my sight so I toss another verbal lasso: “What time is it?”

“It’s quarter to five.”

“Sunrise soon then?”

My parabatai finally glances over his shoulder; his expression is as blank as the wet marble floor. “Yes.”

“Isn’t your assigned sleep time 5AM?”

“Yes.”

“Good thing you have a big bed. We'll both fit comfortably on that. Wanna share a pillow?”

I can hear Alec’s teeth grinding together, but he doesn’t answer me (rude) and enters the bedroom.

I twiddle my thumbs nine times and Alec reappears. My parabatai looks like he’s representing Greece in the ‘Mr. Global’ male beauty pageant. Alec’s skin looks like moonstone against his obsidian-dark eyes and hair; and he’s wearing the hell outta that fresh, sparkly toga. Deo must have had the costumes custom-altered to showcase Alec’s body. I’m so use to seeing him head-to-toe in black leather, but in the past few hours I’ve seen more of Alec’s skin than I have over our lifetime together. The fabric hangs particularly low on his right hip, revealing the side of his upper thigh. If Alec makes a sudden movement he’s gonna flash me.

“Wow, Alec, that was fast. You dried _and_ changed in like five seconds.”

“Vampire.” Alec states, and I smile at his impassive delivery.

“Let's go to bed then!” I beam like I'm a kid heading to Disney Land.

Alec looks up at the ceiling, making a face like he’s trying to remember something important; then his gaze settles upon me like _I’m_ what he was trying to remember. “Yes. You really need to sleep, Jace. I’ll sleep on the sofa. You’ll rest more comfortably alone in my be—”

“We’ll both sleep in your bed.” I declare a fact. “I’m not gonna be away from you for another moment. I almost broke down your door during your ‘me time’. If you sleep on the sofa, then so will I. And if you try to shut the door I’ll destroy it. So, do you want to share a pillow or each have our own? I'd prefer we share.”

“It’s not a good idea, Jace.” Alec says as though I were entering a tight-rope walking competition with my busted foot.

“You’re right, it’s a _great_ idea! C’mon! This’ll be like the good old days whenwe were kids. Remember how we use to pitch a tent in your bedroom and have a sleepover!? You always wanted to read the Codex though, which I’m not into tonight.”

Alec’s expression alludes that he _may_ have been pitching his own tent back then . . . _hmm_ . . . I never noticed . . . _oh_ , and now his expression blatantly warns that he’s _gonna_ pitch one tonight if he’s near me. But that’s fine. As long as he keeps his cock under his toga we’re cool.

I move to stand but I’m _so sweaty_ that my ass uses the sofa as a slip-n-slide! I flail my arms like a fledgling bird —trying to stabilize myself— but my right foot buckles and— _fuck!_ My ass is gonna smash into the floor!

But it doesn’t.

Gravity is no match for Alec.

My parabatai’s cool hands are on my biceps and he steadies me better than my own feet ever could. Alec’s fingers are absolute bliss on my skin, like pressing ice cubes on a sunburn. My heartbeat and breathing are raging from adrenaline so I inhale deeply —trying to calm them— and look up at Alec through my lashes. _Here’s my chance!_ I bat my lashes for full-effect: “My hero! _See?_ I’m a danger to myself. I could roll outta the bed and crack my skull open! It would be negligent of you to leave me unattended. You’d better sleep in that bed with me!”

Alec’s expression is stoic as concrete, but his eyes betray his unfeeling facade. _He wants to sleep with me too._ But he says nothing and then seems to dematerialize and then rematerialize over by the bedroom door. My skin misses his already.

I move toward Alec and over-exaggerate my limp like an actor in a cheesy soap opera. “Ohhh . . . _owww_ . . . the pain and suffering . . . it’s so awful . . .” I wail and wince with every step and watch as Alec’s right eyebrow twitches. I’m cracking his resolve like a jackhammer to real concrete.

However, the ‘joke’s on me’ because the ten steps have me panting and sweating like I’ve hiked Mount Olympus. Was Alec’s apartment erected over a hot spring?! _It’s so fucking hot in here!_ I’m tempted to have another cold shower, but I’m too tired and sore. Although my journey across the room began as a ‘dramatization of agony’ the pain is legit now.

Alec's wonderfully chilly hands find my shoulders and guide me into the bedroom. Sleeping with him is gonna be like snuggling with a man-sized ice pack. _Perfect._

I plop upon the bed and enjoy how it bounces my ass cheeks. This mattress is pretty damn comfy! I’ll hand it to ‘Deo the dick’, the vamp can pick out nice furniture (but that’s not gonna save him from my fists).

The bed looks like a storm cloud and is as soft as a cloud-cloud. The pillowcases, sheets and comforter all have little repeating lightning bolts as a pattern. I crawl across the bed to the nightstand. I had made myself at home upon arrival and set my stele, seraph blade and phone there. Alec’s attention falls upon the angelic items — items he use to cherish— and now their mere touch could burn him _or worse_.

I check my phone. _Ugh._ There are texts and missed calls from _everyone._ One call from Simon; three from Izzy; four from Clary and six from Magnus. I pop into a group chat and leave a note for my friends: _‘Paris = awesome. I stayed out all night. Prob. gained 10lbs! Gonna crash. Check in later.’_ I put red heart emoji for Clary; a pink heart for Izzy; a puke face for Simon and then an eggplant for Magnus. That’ll make them all laugh and think _‘oh, that Jace! He must be feelin’ good!’_

There. Sent. It’s early morning in Athens, but late in New York and they’re probably busy hunting or drinking. Well, Magnus is definitely drinking. I turn my ringer off.

“Everything okay?” Alec asks.

“Yeah, everything’s okay. At least it will be once you join me in this bed.” I roll onto my right side, facing him where he stands and pat the empty space beside me.

Alec looks like a mundane who’s seen a ghost, his already pale vamp skin bleaches to his favorite shade of virginal-white.

“You’re hurtin’ my feelings.” I tease, then grab a pillow and chuck it at Alec’s head. He easily snatches the pillow, and then mumbles something incoherent (and probably rude).

“ _What’s that, Alec_?” I touch my earlobe. “You _can wait_ for some manly snuggle time?”

Alec throws the pillow back at me. I catch it and — _damn_ — he packs a wallop! That was like catching a pillow full of rocks.

“You’re sweating. You’re going to dehydrate. Why are you so irresponsible with your own body?” Alec chastises me then he vanishes and reappears phantom-style. He’s really got his ‘vamp speed control' down. Impressive for a six-week-old, but Alec always was an over-achiever.

Alec has two bottles of water with him, which he sets on the nightstand beside my belongings. He wisely avoids contact with the stele and seraph blade. “Drink these.” Alec orders like he’s my fuckin’ medic.

“Only if you lay down.” I barter, once again patting the empty bed space. Alec’s other eyebrow twitches, but he walks around the bed and considers it; eyeing the comforter as though it were a challenging battle opponent.

“Okay,” Alec concedes, “I’m under control right now, but if I start to lose itthen _promise me_ that you’ll stop me—”

“I will.” I steal Alec’s words, but not his concern. “Alec, _please,_ stop being difficult. I need to be close to you and you need to be close to me. I can feel it.” I touch my abdomen where our parabatai rune use to be, and Alec _finally_ surrenders to _our need_. My parabatai lowers himself onto the comforter with the painstaking slowness of a sloth descending a cliffside. It takes all of my remaining fortitude not to grab his skirt and yank him down!

While I lay on my right side, Alec mirrors me and lays on his left. He shimmies downward so that we’re eye-to-eye. This is a vantage point I don’t get to enjoy when we're standing due to his height. I’m granted a perfect view of Alec's perfect face, but . . . it’s not enough.

"Come closer. I don’t smell _that_ bad.” I wine, reaching my left arm toward him. My fingers barely graze his chest hair and Alec flinches as though I’ve given him a static shock. I roll my eyes. “Stop it. That didn’t hurt.”

Alec stares at me like I’m some riddle that he just can’t solve. I love the way his forehead creases and how he crinkles his nose. What an adorably-annoying sourpuss.

“This is difficult . . .” Alec starts, but doesn’t finish.

“That’s because _you’re_ difficult, Alec.”

“It’s awkward for me . . . you know . . . because, _um_ . . .”

“You’re good at awkward. It’s fine. Come closer.”

Alec scoots forward the length of a flea’s dick.

“For fuck’s sake.” I slide toward Alec, closing the distance to less than a foot. “You’re a brat.” I chide, and blow on Alec’s face like he’s an obstinate birthday candle. The act stirs his bangs and he actually . . . _smiles_. It’s a smile that Alec _wanted_ to present as a grimace, but he’s so-damn-happy that it just busted out. I smile too. And then we both laugh.

“You’re such a stubborn dick.” I tell him.

“Well, I also _have_ a stubborn dick, which I’m trying to protect you from so—”

“Alec, you aren’t going to hurt me. You love me too much.” I aimed for a playful delivery and missed by a long-shot. My voice is as serious as death. "And I love you too. _So much_ , parabatai.” My fingers can be denied no more and they find Alec’s face, brushing over his cheek. It looks like I’m stroking a giant pearl. Alec’s skin is so pale against my own — and that’s some ‘serious pale’ because I’ve been in a coma. But where my own skin just looks sickly and sun-deprived, his looks _beautiful._ Alec’s skin tone is nurtured by moonlight and, like a pearl, he’s faultless. His face will never be tarnished by a blemish or a wrinkle. The face I’m touching with my young, firm, pale-ish hand will be the same that I one day touch with my old, wrinkly and (hopefully) tan hand. Alec will never leave me again, but one day I’ll have to leave him . . .

Alec shivers as though I were the one with the icy touch. I need to feel more than his cheek and so I skim my fingers over his eyebrows, down his nose and then trace his lips — touching Alec as though I were a blind person determined to memorize every detail of his face. My parabatai doesn’t shove me away, he just watches me exploring him. I nudge Alec’s upper lip back. I’m curious to see his fangs up close; but he seals his lips air-tight, shutting out my inspection. I tap my finger against his lips like an impatient salesman knocking on a front door.

Alec turns his head like I’ve slapped him. “Jace! Stop touching my mouth. Would you poke around a mousetrap?”

“C’mon, Alec. I’m just curious! And I'm tryin’ to memorize every detail of your face. I thought I had you memorized before, at least with my eyes, but I want my hands to know you too . . . I, _ah_ . . .”

 _Well, fuck_. Emotion is a stealthy bastard and it ambushes me, disabling my voice like I’ve been gagged. And this emotion has a name: _Guilt_. I should have memorized Alec’s face better when he was alive. _I should have! But I didn’t!_ And now it’s too late. I remember that: when he shaved too close he’d get razor-burn on his chin. And when Alec would spend all night hunting he’d get those dark circles under his eyes, and I’d tease him that he needed makeup. Those New York winters chapped his lips and the summer sun made his nose peel, and now . . . _now_ . . .

I’ll never see Alec so perfectly imperfect again. He’s forever perfect-perfect.A living work of art that will survive the ages and survive me. My parabatai doesn’t need a museum to protect him, but he does need me. One day he will have to survive without me, but he can't do it yet. Underneath his flawless, tough, impenetrable shell is still my self-deprecating, sensitive, vulnerable Alec. Knives and guns can’t scar his flesh, but his feelings have been forced through a shredder. I have to protect Alec. I have to free him from the scum that was selfish enough to make him this way; outside and inside.

 _Okay, enough sad shit._ _We’re together. Right now he’s all mine._

And, _fuck tho_ , my vampire Alec is . . . _breathtaking_.

Alec has always been attractive. Anytime we weren’t glamoured he’d give mundanes whiplash; that boy turned more heads than a cheap barber. Alec never noticed, _of course_ , and he assumed everyone was always checking me out. I’ve always admired Alec’s masculine model-esque features --he's beautiful, he's gorgeous-- but I’ve never thought of him as ‘breathtaking’ before. That’s a word I use to describe a sunset over the sea; fresh snow on a winter landscape; Clary in her velvety green dress . . .

And, I feel like I’m betraying my live Alec, because I can’t deny the appeal of his perfect-perfect dead self.

Do I find Alec attractive? _Yes._ But looking at him now . . . am I . . . I . . .

. . . _am I ._ . .

. . . attracted _to him?_

_No, Jace, you idiot. Of course not._

My mind bashes me with the image of Alec laying in bed with Magnus for all of eternity. I wanna puke into a bag and bash it over Magnus' head. Okay, that's a strong reaction. Um . . . so fine, I can admit this to myself: seeing Alec with Magnus always made me feel … ‘protective’— _nope, ‘jealous’, Jace. The word is ‘jealous’_.

 _Fine_. I was jealous— _I am jealous_ — but not because I want to be sexually intimate with Alec. _Angel no. No way_. I’m just envious that Magnus received so much of Alec’s attention when he was alive and, now that Alec is immortal, those two will grow closer and continue to do so long after I’m dust.

I love seeing and feeling Alec happy. _Of course_. When Alec fell in love with Magnus it allowed him to fall _out of_ love with me. After all, long before Deo stilled Alec’s heart _I_ was the one who broke it. While I always loved my parabatai, he wanted the one sliver of my heart that I could never give him. I wished that I could. If I could turn the sun into a smilie-face emoji for Alec I would; so I certainly would've turned myself gay for him. But I’d have a more realistic chance of actually turning the sun _into_ a smilie-face emoji than making my cock hard for a man — even when that man is my everything.

I never liked the way Magnus pursued Alec like a horny hound; and then when they started humping away like two horny hounds it was . . . distracting. Pre-Bane I never had to compete for Alec’s attention. I’m a selfish, possessive bastard when it comes to Alec and I just got _really good_ at hiding those feelings from him and . . . from myself. When Magnus entered our lives Alec could feel my envy, but he was oblivious that the envy was over him— he thought it was over Clary; because she and Simon were in their gross flirty—involved stage around that same time. And I _was_ jealous over Clary and Simon, insanely jealous, but. . . I just . . . I don’t exactly know what I was feeling then, and don’t know what I’m feeing now. I’m confused. I’m really confused. My feelings are twisted like rotten tree roots under a swamp and —I’m not thinking clearly. I’m tired. I’m just tired.

I close my eyes and try to imagine Alec alive, but I can only see him dying on his knees; his face twitching as his body short-circuits; all of his blood draining away . . . _angel, no . . . please_ , _grant me any other memory than this!_

“Jace?” Alec’s voice is still warm, even if his body isn’t. My inner devastation knocks through us both like a battering-ram made from vamp fangs.

I take a deep breath and look at my perfect-pearly-white- _breathtaking_ parabatai. “Alec, when you died . . .”

Alec gapes at me like _I’m_ the one who unleashed the battering-ram. “Please, Jace, don’t go there. It’s unbearable.”

“It was unbearable. It-it is unbearable. Alec . . . I- I failed you . . . I . . .” Spitting out my own teeth would be more pleasant than these words, but I continue. We need to talk about the night he died. I’ll never forgive myself for failing Alec; but I need to know that he forgives me.

“No, Jace. You never failed me.” Alec is adamant, is voice stronger than any battering-ram.

“Do you . . . forgive me?”

“Stop it. There is _nothing_ to forgive. _I’m_ the one who _left you_ , Jace. _Shit.”_ Alec bites his lower lip like it’s to blame; he makes himself bleed but his vamp-healing is instant. The cut vanishes and his lip is smooth once more. “Jace, how can _you_ ever forgive _me_ for leaving you? What _you_ went through . . . it was worse than death. And if the situation was reversed I-I couldn’t have . . .” Alec’s eyes tint like someone’s dripped red food-coloring into them. “Jace, if they forced me to watch you die — _feel you die —_ I couldn’t have survived it. I couldn’t have. I can’t exist in a world without you. You’re so much stronger than I am.” Alec blinks and the red food-coloring streams downward, staining his cheeks.

“I’m not strong. I’m wrecked. _I wanted to die._ I would’ve killed myself if I hadn’t _felt_ that you'd endured.” My eyes water like they’ve been poked, but the culprit is Emotion yet again. My face is wet like Alec’s is. Our tears look different, but they come from the same place. “Watching you leave me. . . _feeling_ you leave me . . . being helpless to do _fucking_ _anything_ . . . ” Alec’s face blurs like he’s vamp-speeding, only he’s not. My own tears are marring his perfection. I hate my tears for this. I rub at my eyes, trying to rid myself of the blinding wetness, but the effort only draws _more_ tears. Trying to stop them is like trying to stop a downpour by shaking my fist at the sky.

Alec’s arms encircle my neck; one slides beneath me, making his bicep my new pillow. His muscle is firm and cool and— _fuck every other pillow --_ my head won’t settle for subpar ever again. Alec’s pulls me closer and cradles the back of my head. His fingers lose themselves in my hair, combing through the strands as though he can loosen my guilt like a snarl. I press my wet nose into the crook of his neck and breathe him and — _fuck normal air --_ I don’t want to breathe ever again unless I’m breathing him.

I didn't know hearts could have orgasms, yet mine is certainly going off! It’s throbbing like there’s a vibrator jammed into one of the ventricles; and it’s a greedy organ and wants _more . . . but more what?!_ My body _wants something_ and it’s prepared to launch me into cardiac arrest to get it.

I wrap my arms around Alec’s torso and my fingers roam across his lower back, savoring his cold, muscled flesh. I could never order a custom body pillow that molded to me like his body does. My parabatai has lowered my temperature and I’m no longer sweating. I’m also no longer crying. My voracious heart aside, my body is . . . content.

Alec and I are pressed together _so tightly_ that a slice of paper would have no way in-between us. Well, other than our hips. Alec has stuck out his right knee to keep me at bay, leaving enough room for a stray cat to take a nap between our groins. Maybe his cock is hard or maybe he’s just in ‘hard prevention mode’. I don’t care either way, but I don’t squish the invisible cat. I don’t wanna do anything that might cause Alec to bolt.

My lips touch his clavicle and it takes _all of my mental restraint_ not to kiss him there. I’ve hugged Alec hundreds of times, but I’ve never kissed any part of him. Not his hair. Not his hand. Not his cheek. Kissing is just not something that we do to show affection. But the skin coating Alec's clavicle is _so cool_ , _so soft_. . . and my heart pounds harder, urging me to indulge. But I don’t. Instead I tilt my face downward. My right cheek presses into Alec’s chest and I enjoy the way my facial stubble feels against his hair. I miss Alec's heartbeat, _but I have him_. We are right where we belong. 

My parabatai has decided to role-play as an ice sculpture. His hands go ridged in my hair. Through our bond I can _feel_ Alec’s resolve walking a tightrope. I’m a greedy dick so I’m gonna shake the rope. I need him to fall onto me. Fall into me. Be closer to me. _Even this_ is not enough. I don’t know what I want, but I want more. I _need more._

My hands slide to Alec’s hips and I grab him; gripping like _I’m_ the one falling from the tightrope. Alec anchors his hips like he’s desperate not to crush the invisible cat. My fingernails dig into him, but it’s like pushing my nails into stone. His vampire-skin won't break — and breaking it was never my intention — I just want to pull him closer. But it would be easier to play tug-o-war with a gorilla than budge Alec, so I don’t push my luck or move my own legs closer. I just hold him. I hold Alec tightly enough that he won’t throw me to the floor _for_ holding him this tight.

I look up. Alec’s eyes are closed and his brow is furrowed like he's contemplating 'the meaning of life' (or doing some kinda strange meditation). Whatever the case, I expected irritation to be chiseled into his ice sculpture face and there is none. Well, then, I guess Alec won’t mind if I explore his body. From the waist up, _of course_. I want to map-out every centimeter of his vampire skin, but I also don't want to forget every detail of his live skin.

My right hand retains it's Alec-hip-grip and my left one ventures north. I push my finger between his neck and the pillow and retrace the outline of the _deflect rune_ that once existed here. Alec doesn’t flinch. My fingers continues their voyage, heading due south, and skim over the clavicle I wanted to kiss. Just below this was Alec’s _stealth rune_. A rune that I drew. My hands remember every detail and I sketch over the missing lines again. My fingers drag through Alec’s chest hair, catching on his right nipple (which is hard enough to cut vamp skin). I swear he’s wooly like ram. My parabatai has more testosterone than his shy body knows what do to with— _er_ . . . well, I don’t know if vampires have testosterone and I daresay Alec knows ‘what to do with it’ now given his dutiful daily jerk-off sessions . . . _anyway._

I open Alec’s toga so that I can access his entire torso. He looks foreign without his runes, it’s almost like I’m touching a completely different person and like I'm touching my own orgasming heart at the same time. I aim to redraw his _agility rune —_ which use to be the predominant rune, decorating the skin under his right ribs and upper abdominals. But my fingertips linger over Alec’s ribs. These ribs were broken when he died. I press into the bones and they feel like fortified steel. If I punched them my hand would break.

Alec moves a little bit, but not to toss me; he’s shifting like an iceberg under the sun. His arms fall from my hair and tighten around my shoulders, holding me like he doesn’t even want air to fit between our chests. Alec’s fingers slide under my toga and he rubs my back. His fingers feel like they’ve been in an ice bath and yet — _somehow—_ this makes my face burn hot. _Really hot_. My cheeks feel sunburned and my heart continues to thud -- waling on my ribs like I've been goin' doggy-style for hours. I know that my parabatai can hear and feel my heartbeat; and _I_ wonder if _he_ wonders why I’m so fuckin’ lit?! Because I don’t even know why.

Alec winces. The sound is hushed and sharp like he’s got a cramp. His hands draw back as though my body were hurting him; but their destination is between his own thighs. Alec is trying to readjust his toga. It’s shifted along with our bodies and is about to show me if he’s hard or not. My reflexes engage. I part my legs and drop my left thigh over Alec’s hip — which secures his toga in place— but also makes us look like we're vying for ‘the gayest couple in the universe’ award. But I don’t care. I’ve left _just enough_ space between us for the stray cat to lay down— or rather for Alec’s porn star cock to rise— without crowding either. I just need him to stay right here.

I bump my forehead against his. “Hey, you.” I whisper. “I love you, parabatai.” I tell Alec again, and we’re _so close_ that I could kiss his nose. “I love you so much that it terrifies me. I can’t lose you again. I can’t even be away from you again, so we just need to stay like this, okay?”

Alec doesn’t open his eyes, but my words cause his upper lip to twitch. He’s fighting a smile or a scowl, maybe both.

“Well?” I press Alec with my words and with my face; pushing my forehead against his like an ink stamp to paper. I wish my forehead was an ink stamp that would print ‘Loved by Jace’ right onto his skin.

Alec opens his eyes.

My parabatai's body may be a flesh popsicle, but my eye lashes are gonna catch flame. I’m staring into fire— _no,_ fire isn’t hot enough— Alec’s eyes are absolutely molten. His sight melts over me like copper ore, treating every atom in my body to a heatwave. Despite Alec’s frigid embrace I’m sweating again. Alec is looking at me the way he did in the alleyway, but it’s _slightly different._ In the alleyway his stare was predatory and sounded my internal alarm, warning me that I needed to redirect him. But now there are no ‘danger bells’ going off. But there are bells . . . sirens . . . screams . . . my body wants to dive into those molten pools and drown. I need Alec to surround me, fill me, own me. Every inch-centimeter-millimeter-fuckin’-molecule! 

_I need_ to be closer to Alec! Closer than it is physically possible for us to ever be. And I’m going to turn his walls and bed and ceiling into dust with my seraph blade — _destroy everything_ — because it’s just not possible for me to be close enough; and something has to pay-up for this injustice right now! Here we are: parabatai wrapped around each other; our foreheads pressed together; I’m half-sideways- _straddling him_ and it is just NOT ENOUGH.

I NEED MORE.

I need all of him.

I need to embrace the parts of him that aren’t even tangible.

I would explode into dust _right now_ if Alec wasn’t holding me together.

My sanity. My body. My soul.

“Jace?” Alec says my name and I shudder; quaking like I _really am_ gonna burst into dust because he makes my name sound so fucking amazing. Alec doesn’t need encanto to command me. I’ll _do_ _anything_ just to hear him say my name again. Deo better not sire-ban him from saying it any more! I’ve decided to spare Alec’s walls, bed and ceiling. Deo is the only one destined to become dust by my blade.

But I don’t tell Alec any of this, instead I just ask: “Yes?”

“I love you too, parabatai. I’m happy you’re here.” The word ‘happy’ is a preposterous understatement and we both feel it. Alec wrinkles his nose at me, knowing that he selected an unworthy adjective. I lean forward, I . . . I think I’m about to actually kiss his nose—but, a yawn escapes me. Fatigue has snuck up on me like no demon ever could. And I realize that my heart has finally stopped breaking the record for longest ‘Big O’. There’s a content, steady thumping between us now.

“Go to sleep, Jace.”

“I will . . .” I yawn again, “if you will.” My attempt at bargaining is pathetic, I sound like a drunk zombie. My eyelids feel heavier than my heart and they close on Alec’s breathtaking face.

“Fine.” Alec says, “I’ll sleep too.” And his cold arms wrap me tighter, folding me into a comfy-Alec-cocoon.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

(Alec)

_What. . . ?!_

_What’s going on?!_

My eyes pop open. I’ve got a massive hard-on, which is normal for me. _What’s not normal_ is waking up with a half-naked Jace in my arms.

My parabatai is snoozing away, breathing like he hasn’t got a care in the world, but his position is. . . _shit!_ Jace’s body is like a hot water bottle against me — hot in temperature _and_ hot in fuckin’-hotness-hot. Jace makes Sleeping Beauty look like a sleep-deprived hag. Flaxen hair falls over his eyes and sweat sticks the strains to those perfect cheekbones. Jace’s lips are resting in that ‘naturally pouty’ way that makes me want to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until he begs me to make him cum. Or so my fantasies go . . .

I’m on my back and Jace is sideways, spooning me like his dreams want a mouthful. His right cheek is using my chest as a pillow; his left arm is draped over my ribs; but my waist is sandwiched between his thighs. Jace is side-straddling me like I’m a bronco he’s determined to ride and— _what the fuck?_ What's jabbing my thigh— _oh._

Jace has a hard-on too.

Innocent ‘morning wood’ no doubt, unlike mine which is a sinful, burning log that I want to plunge into his ass— _stop it!_

I lay still as a corpse (easy for me) as Jace’s very large, very hard boner tries to drill through my hipbone. I’ve fantasized about Jace’s cock countless times, I just never thought that I’d actually feel it. And if my dead flesh could bruise, I’m pretty sure I’d have a skin souvenir.

 _Jace is blissfully hard_. He’s also blissfully unaware that he’s hard. He’s unaware that I’m hard. He’s unaware that I want to roll him onto his back and pin him, bite him and fuck him until every cell in his body _IS_ damn-well aware. 

I don’t.

But . . .

 _What would it be like_ to help myself to his body? To wake Jace up with my mouth around his cock? To hold him in my hands . . . lick him . . . taste him . . . take him down my throat? He’d probably be confused, think I was Clary; at least at first. But I’d bet my afterlife that the redhead can’t throat a dick like I can.

I don’t.

_Of course I don’t._

Instead I slide myself out from under Jace as though he were fine china and I an unworthy tablecloth. His toga fabric _mercifully_ falls between his legs andhides his cock from my view, but the bulge rises to beckon me. I lay a pillow over it.

I need to get away from him!

I stand and my toga falls — _shit! It’s come undone!_ I catch the fabric before it can make _even the tiniest_ sound on the floor. I’m bare-ass naked with the largest erection of my undead life.

I need to get outta here! 

One vampire perk is stealth. I slip from the room with the grace of a shadow, leaving Jace to his wet-Clary-dream. I head into the kitchen, refastening my toga as I walk and wishing I could refasten my sanity too.

 _What time is it?_ Am I too early to blood-binge again? How long have I been asleep? I’m surprised I was even able _to_ fall asleep with Jace in my arms and a huge erection between my legs. Laying with him was some sort of fucked-up-rapturous-heavenly-hell. Jace was so needy and clingy and handsy . . . he just wouldn’t stop touching me; caressing me like I was some gemstone that he needed to polish. _Shit, it was torture!_ My parabatai needed me to hold him — _so I did!_ But trying _not to_ pound my dick into him was like trying to stop the tide from pounding against the shore with willpower alone— but _somehow_ I did it. And the exertion of it must have made me black-out. But, _shit,_ I need to get Jace on a flight back to New York! Deo can’t know he’s . . .

_Oh fuck-fuck-fuck._

My cellphone is laying on the table and it’s buzzing like an angry hornet. My dead heart drops into my stomach and rolls through my innards like a pinball; plummeting to my groin and crushing my erection.

_There are eleven missed calls and five text messages._

All from Deo.

I click on the messages.

Message One, 6:05AM: ‘ _Are you alright, Alexander?’_

Message Two, 6:10AM: ‘ _You better be sleeping and not ignoring me.’_

Message Three, 8AM: _‘I’m assuming you are asleep and I'm also going to sleep, but I best have a reply waiting for me when I awaken.’_

Message Four, 7:50PM: _‘You should be getting up in ten minutes. Call me immediately.’_

Message Five, 8:30PM: _‘I’m coming over.’_

It’s 8:43PM now!

Deo is on his way . . . he’s gotta be almost here!

I text Deo — my fingers shaking like I’m in an earthquake —but I get the words down: _‘I’m fine. I overslept. Sorry to have worried you, but no need to come by. I’ll see you at work.''_

My sire’s reply is instant: _‘I’ll be there in a few minutes.’_

_NO!_

JACE! He’s here! His nephilim smell is all over my apartment!

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

I’m not gonna be able to hide him! I can’t protect him!

I run into the bedroom like Hell’s Army is chasing me!

Jace is sitting upright, yawing and stretching like he’s on vacation. “ _Alec?_ Why did you leave me?” My parabatai reaches for me like he’s a stupid baby monkey who wants to cuddle and then burn my sanity away.

“Get up!” I yell like my sanity _is_ burning — my flesh too!

My alarm spreads through Jace like a real fire — igniting every cell in his body with adrenaline! He launches into ‘Shadowhunter mode’, jumping to his feet and grabbing his stele and seraph blade from the nightstand.

I seize Jace by his forearm and drag him outta the bedroom and toward the backdoor. I need to throw him into darkness — tell him to run away! I touch the door handle and freeze like it’s coated in liquid nitrogen. I hear something on the opposite side. Footsteps fall softer than raindrops . . . that’s no mundane.

“Al—” Jace starts, but I shove my pointer finger against his lips and shake my head. He nods, understanding not to speak.

I tow Jace to the front door. He’ll have to activate his speed rune and just _go!_ I hope his busted foot can carry him, but-- _shit_. More delicate footfalls. I count three distinct sets; the difference been hearing raindrops, snowflakes and feathers touch down. Deo brought back-up. _But why?!_ Does he know that Jace is here?! How could he know?!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I pull Jace into the bathroom; I feel his sight searching for mine — I feel his concern reaching for me through our bond — but I can’t bring myself to look at him. This is my fault! I’ve put Jace in danger! My selfish desire to spend time with him has caused this! He’s going to be killed because of me!

NO-NO-NO!

Think, Alec! THINK!

“Alec?” Jace’s voice is gentle, but unyielding like tether binding our souls. 

With my other hand I turn on the shower and dump in my entire bottle of body wash — it foams-up like a hot spring, overpowering us both with the smell of artificial pine trees.

I turn to Jace and watch as concern dominates his handsome face.

“No matter what, you _have_ to stay inside the bathroom, Ja— _dammit._ ” I can’t say his name. “My sire is here. I have to hide your scent.”

There are three knocks on my front door.

Jace swallows like he’s got a mouth full of glass. His mismatched eyes flick back and forth between me and door. I can _feel_ his rage surging like a geyser. “Don’t.” I warn him.

Jace trembles like he’s about to burst into flames and destroy the world. I need to douse that. I snatch a bottle of cologne and dump the contents over his head. Jace winces as it runs over his lashes, stinging his eyes. I grab a second bottle and dump half of it over my own head.

And now I'm moving faster than I’ve ever moved! Jace probably can’t even see me as I strip the bed and dump the sheets, pillows and blankets into the shower. Then I pour the remaining cologne over the the sofa and the mattress. I grab Jace’s cellphone; his half eaten pizza; the bottles of water; his boots by the door; his dirty clothes and I throw them all into the bubbling shower. Jace manages to rescue his cellphone _just before_ it meets a watery grave.

There are three more knocks.

I’m surprised that Deo is bothering _to_ knock. But greeks are nothing if not polite; though I don’t dare to make him knock again.

My cellphone starts having a conniption upon the kitchen table. I don’t have to look at the screen to know it’s Deo.

I turn off the shower and move toward the bathroom door. I count five of Jace’s precious heartbeats and then I turn to him. His heart is depending on me. My parabatai gapes at me like he wants to say something — quite a lot of somethings — but he’s not sure where to start and I don’t let him.

“No matter _what_ you hear, you have _promise me_ that you won’t come out! Stay in this bathroom. Do you understand?” I ask him, well-knowing that he does.

Jace’s stare could burn the bathroom door down. “Is he going to hurt you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. Not anymore.” My words bite harder than my fangs, and Jace flinches. “If you love me you _will_ stay inside this room. If he sees you, if he even smells you, he’ll make me kill you. Don’t condemn me to an eternity of _that._ Promise me _!_ ”

“I . . . promise.” Jace forces out the vow like he were now vomiting the shards of glass. My favorite face is trying to be brave, but if I blew on him he’d crumble.

I shut the door.

My apartment reeks like a soap factory. The cologne and body wash have combined with the shower steam to thicken the air like a pungent fog. Jace’s scent is muffled; but I can still smell him. I go to my fridge and grab fistfuls of blood bags. I tear them open with my teeth, emptying blood all over the white marble floor. The sound is like thick, heavy paint splattering . . . and the smell— _fuck—_ my fangs bear themselves; it’s a biological reflex like a werewolf raising his hackles. I _want_ to feed; but I have to _focus_. This gory scent should distract from Jace’s. I sniff the air and I can’t detect Jace. I just have to hope that Deo’s ancient nose won’t be able to either.

Deo knocks once . . . twice . . . 

I retract my fangs and open the front door, quickly stepping onto the porch and then closing the door behind me. Maybe I can set Deo’s mind at ease and he’ll leave without ever coming inside?

“Kalinychta.” I force a smile and greet my sire in greek, hoping to appease him. Deo grins, nodding with approval at my bilingual effort. Beside him are two of my co-workers, Troy --the bouncer who was supposed to cover for me so I could leave work early -- and Hinata, a beautiful Japanese woman who Deo turned several centuries ago. Hinata is renowned for being Deo's most skilled fighter, she almost never leaves _Kακία_ unattended.

Troy and Hinata are wearing togas similar to mine, but (thankfully) neither has a weapon. Deo is wearing a long toga the color of sea-foam and silver sandals adorn his feet. His curls match the night sky and he has them tightly bound in a top-knot high on his head. His posture is relaxed as though he were ‘just passing through the neighborhood’ and wanted to say ‘hello’.

I glance at Troy and his cheeks tighten, his expression warning me that — while Deo appears calm— he is anything but.

Deo wrinkles his nose, clearly smelling the months-worth of cologne I dumped over my head. His eyes are the color of iron shackles and they slide down my body — lingering blatantly on my groin area — and then they dart upward, meeting my own.

“Oi trópoi kánoun ton ánthropo,” the greek words drip from Deo’s lips like olive oil . . . or blood. “Manners maketh the man, Alexander. Aren’t you going to invite us in?”

Troy gives me a look that says: _‘invite us in!’_ so I nod.

“Of course, how rude of me, _um, ah,_ here . . .” I open my front door and hold it so that my unwanted guests may enter.

The vampire trio beholds my blood-splattered-soap-fogged apartment and their hands cover their noses, wholly baffled by the the mish-mash of smells.

“By Zeus, Alexander! What is going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always . . . your comments really mean SOOO much to me! Please leave me a note (even a little one) to inspire my Jalec muse to keep on keepin' on! THANK YOU to everyone who has read this story and left me encouraging comments along the way. I APPRECIATE YOU!!! Here's hoping I can get another chapter up before 2021. Who wants to know what's gonna happen?!  
> & Lemme know which version of the cover art you prefer.  
> Best wishes and happy holidays, Maia's Pen
> 
> PS- Wooserr is also making cover art for my fic 'Taste of Danger'. AHHHH!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

(Alec)

“By Zeus, Alexander! What is going on?” Deo pushes past me and into my murder-scene-of-a-kitchen. Troy and Hinata follow him in like dutiful, fanged ducklings.

My three unwanted guests cover their noses like mundanes in a fish market. “Friktós! Alexander, did you murder a perfume salesman? Panáthemá se!” Deo curses in greek; eyes wide as he surveys the blood-splatter on my kitchen floor and walls. His sight lands on the empty blood bags and then returns to me; glaring like I’m his wayward son who stole and crashed his car. “What a mess and a terrible waste of blood! Friktós! Well, _please_ explain to me the reasoning for this reeking pigsty and, _while your at it_ , you can explain why you left work early.”

 _Shit._ I glance at Troy and the big lug shrugs apologetically. _Damnit, he ratted me out._ I look to Hinata and, though I’m a foot taller than her, she manages to _stare me down;_ glowering like she wants me to burst into flame.

Deo misses nothing and calls-out our visual exchange. “Easy, Hinata. I’ve got this. And, Alexander, don’t get pissy with Troy. He holds secrets like a sieve. A downright terrible liar, which makes him an ideal employee, no?” Deo laughs like he told his own favorite joke, “as though _any_ of _my_ vampires could _even_ lie to me anyway. Periméno! Míla parakaló!”

I approach my sire, stand tall and peer into his ironclad eyes. I _need_ to present an ironclad front of my own. _I need to sell my lie_. Jace’s life depends on my acting skills — on my ability to set Deo at ease and then send him on his way. I hope that Deo’s claim that: his vampires _can’t lie to him_ was just _him lying to one of his vampires_.

“Go on then,” Deo removes his hands from his nose and makes a beckoning gesture toward me. “You have much explaining to do.”

I shut my eyes and pretend that I’m sorting out my thoughts. What I’m really doing is listening for Jace. But — _thank Zeus, the devil and all of their powerful pals_ — because I can’t hear him at all. Not his shifting. Not his heartbeat. Not his breathing. My parabatai has activated his soundless rune, and probably stealth rune too. Jace has muted his mortal biology. As long as he stays put the vampires shouldn’t detect him.

“By Zeus, Alexander! Are you solving a math equation? Out with it before I force it out of you!”

_Shit._

_Here goes . . ._

“I’m doing my best to stick to your routine and to follow your advice, and it _is_ helping. _It is._ But, I’ve. . . I’ve been really lonely.” I bite down on my lower lip, trying to emulate Izzy’s doe-eyed-sad face that _always_ gets her outta trouble with the opposite sex. I know that Deo is attracted to me — _he tells me everyday_ — so if I can play the ‘Lightwood Looks’ card to my advantage and calm Deo’s ire, I will. If I can convince my sire that I’m fine — that I just had a little meltdown — he’ll leave. Deo is like a _really nasty_ kitten jacked-up on caffeine and cocaine, he bores easily and just wants to go-go-go. _Well,_ that is if the kitten were a murdering, immortal, psychopathic demon.

l know that Jace is watching us. Though I can’t hear his heartbeat, I can feel it spiking. He's activated his vision rune and is observing us through the solid door like it’s an invisible window. Jace is either going to be horrified or impressed with my ‘Izzy-act’, and it’s my duty to ensure that he lives to tell her about it either way.

“It’s just, _you know . . .”_ I pause to bite my lower lip again before continuing, “. . . dealing with the _circumstances_ of my death has been a lot to . . . process by myself.” For the first time I’m thankful that Deo has sire-banned me from saying ‘Magnus’ around him; it makes it easier to avoid Jace learning the truth.

Deo smirks, shaking a finger as though I were a dog who just shit on his rug. “Oh, you know how to play my cock like a lyre, Alexander! But go on, keep nibbling that lower lip, see where it gets you.” Deo gestures to his groin area and I release my lip like it’s a sour candy.

“Um, anyway, I, um, and--”

“ _Yes_? Out with it already! _And?_ ” Deo swirls his pointer finger in their air, encouraging me to elaborate.

Troy and Hinata look like pasty, fanged teapots about to boil-over. They are still covering their noses and clearly _want out_ of my apartment.

“ _And_ I’ve been feeling claustrophobic. My entire existence is this apartment and _Kακία._ I can’t go anywhere else. And I left work early ‘cause I felt like the walls were closing in on me and . . .” I slump my shoulders for full-pathetic effect. “I just didn’t feel that I could perform my work duties at the caliber expected of me. I know that I disappointed you by leaving early, Deo, but I feel that I would’ve disappointed you more had I stayed.”

“Aww, poor kid.” Troy mummers with sympathy.

Hinata rolls her eyes like she’s me.

Deo frowns, eyeing me like I’m a fruit with a brown spot. “Why didn’t you come and talk to me then? You could have just asked permission to leave early. I may have allowed it."

“You were, _um,_ busy with your ‘guests’.” I make the air quotes with my fingers.

“ _Bah,”_ Deo swats the air like it’s annoying. “You could have interrupted _or_ joined-in! I will always make time for you, Alexander. You know how important you are to me, right? You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve made in centuries.”

I nod, folding my hands behind my back so I don’t punch him. “Yes. I know. You’re right. I-I should have come to you, Deo. In the future I will. I promise.”

“ _Ah_ , good boy.” Deo closes distance between us, careful not to dirty his sandals in the blood puddles. My sire places his hands on my cheeks, holding me like I’m his favorite antique nicknack. As always I feel his touch in my balls, and my stomach muscles clench with arousal. “You are so lovely that it takes effort for me to remain irked with you. _But I am irked_.” Deo’s eyes are the sky before a typhoon. His eyebrows pull together, he leans toward me, and— _fuck!_ Deo is no longer holding me like a nicknack, he’s squeezing me like a balloon he wants to pop! If I were a mundane he’d have already broken my jaw!

I block my own reflex to shove him. It’s futile. Deo will never allow me to defend myself. And so I stand like a solider and take it. If he breaks my vampire jaw then so be it. He just can’t break my Jace.

“Explain this reeking mess, please.” Deo’s hands fall from my face _just_ before my teeth fall out. But my relief is aborted for his hands redirect their ire to my shoulders instead. I grind my teeth against the urge to cry out. I don’t want Deo to reap satisfaction from my pain.

“I-I just had a-a meltdown. Threw some . . . bottles o-of cologne and blood bags a-around. It was stupid, I-I know.” And yet the pain hinders me like my teeth _are_ loose in my mouth. I’m struggling to form words. Deo’s nails have punctured my tough vampire skin like tissue paper. My shoulders are sobbing blood, and it’s sliding down my arms, torso and legs where it merges with the mundane blood on the floor. “There’s n-no go-od ex-cuse. Lost my. . .temp-er.” And I’m about to lose conciseness too. My sire’s fingers are now _inside me._ He’s digging into my biceps like they're fruits and he's searching for the seeds. Deo’s nails are boring through muscle, ligaments — scraping my bones!

“Okay then.” Deo performs a mundane huff; pulling his fingers from my flesh. The sound is like a dozen meatballs being squashed at once. His fingers are slathered like he’s reached into a basin of strawberry jam. I glance at my right shoulder and it looks like the surface of a bowling ball; Deo’s perfect finger holes are gaping open and oozing that jam. Maybe the jam has splashed into my eyes because I’m seeing red . . . red poke-a-dots orbit my head like tiny blood moons. _Well, this isn’t good._ I can feel my vampire flesh toiling to knit itself back together; but one of these moons may crack into my head and knock me out before then.

 _Man-up, Alec_! _DO NOT FAINT! If Jace sees you pass out he’s gonna lose it! Think of Jace. Think only of Jace! Fuck your arms, let Deo rip them off. Just stay calm for Jace._

My sire’s hands glide down my biceps and my arm hair rises in response. Despite the superstorm in his sights, my sire’s touch is light as rain and my cock twitches. I hate that disgusting flesh traitor! I’m trying my damnedest not to let _that_ rise as well, but it’s like Deo is my fuckin’ penis puppeteer! He caresses my elbows, my forearms and my wrists— smearing my own gore into me like massage oil — and then Deo takes my hands in his. For a moment he simply holds my hands — rubbing my fingers like precious coins— but then he squeezes; warning my fingers that he can break them if he wants to.

“This has been difficult for you, Alexander.” My sire perches on his tippy toes so that he can look me in my woozy eyes. “I sympathize with your hardship. And I’m not heartless, despite what you may think of me. Therefore I’m going to grant you a few days of leave. Parakaló.”

The moons must’ve crashed inside my ears. “ _Leave_?” I choke out, the word barely _leaving_ my mouth.

“Yes, _leave_! What do you American’s call it, eh? ‘ _Vacation days_ ’? Right?” Deo looks over his should to Hinata (who is still covering her nose). “What day is it?”

“Deftéra.” Hinata replies in greek, well-knowing that I don’t understand her. She curls four of her fingers inward so only her middle finger sicks out to the side. _Heh, what a rude bitch. Reminds me of me._

“Se efcharistó fíle mou. _Ah, okay_.” My sire’s attention is all mine again. _Joy._ “Alexander, it’s Monday night, and I’m going to grant you the rest of the week off. This is providing that you’re back at work _on time_ by Friday evening. How does that sound?”

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the moons plugging my ear canals. There’s no way I heard him correctly! Deo is giving me _. . . the week off?_  
I don’t know what to say, so I just nod.

Deo relaxes his rat-trap-grip on my fingers, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead he swings our hands side-to-side like we’re a pair of pre-teens on our first date.

“Oh, but you can’t stay here in the apartment . . . _the claustrophobia and all_ , _so,_ what the heck! I’m feeling generous!” Deo raises our joined hands and shakes them like pompoms. “You can stay at my house on Mykonos Isle! You’ll love it! It’s so posh! Just go hop on the overnight ferry and it’ll take you straight there. You can leave tonight! It’s a quick sprint to Rafina port. It’ll only take you ten minutes on foot, Alexander. Easy! I’ll text the port address to your phone.” Deo is the happiest I’ve _ever_ seen him — and I’ve seen him at _Kακία_ with a dick in each hand. “The overnight ferry leaves at 10PM, but that’s ‘greek time’ so probably closer to 11, yes? It’s direct to Mykonos. When you arrive at port, look north. My house will be the fanciest one on the hillside. Parakaló! It’s on the highest peak, beyond mundane ability to reach, so you won’t be bothered. You can’t miss it. I have a private pool; the fridge is fully-stocked with blood; and you can finally indulge in the Mediterranean seascape views! _Oh,_ it’s truly paradise!” Deo makes me spin him like a ballerina. And my head is spinning like one too! Is he _really_ sending me to an island for the week? By myself?! And putting me on a ferry with mundanes to get there?! I can’t be trapped on a boat with mundanes! I’ll kill them!

“Sire, is Alexander _ready_ to be around humans like that?” Troy voices our mutual concern through his thick accent. He’s also still covering his nose, but at least he doesn’t flip me the bird.

“Nooooo,” Deo laughs like Troy told a zinger, “but I’ll force him to behave.” Without warning Deo yanks my fingers like he’s pulling electrical plugs— the cartilage snaps loudly like fuses popping as the digits are ripped from their joints!

“ _Ahhh, fuuuuuck_!” My cry ambushes me— it’s a pathetic sound and I _hate_ myself for making it. But Deo grins like I’m singing his favorite song.

“Alexander, listen carefully: you are _forbidden_ to bite any humans, do you understand?”

The blood moons must be having a family reunion. Triple the dots are using my head to play ‘Ring Around the Rosie’.

“I can’t hear you. Do you understand?”

“ _Shit,_ yes. I-I understand.”

“And, what else would you like to say to me, eh? Your American manners are quite lacking.”

I’d rather chew my own fractured finger bones than grovel, but I do it. “Thank you, Deo, for your . . . generosity.”

Deo releases my fingers and they hang like overcooked noodles. I can’t even wiggle them, but my vamp healing is already reattaching nerves, tissue and bone.

“See?” Deo gleams at his underlings. “Alexander is a good boy. He just needs more training.”

Hinata looks bored and Troy looks . . . nervous. The male vampire is looking everywhere but _at_ me.

“Well then,” Deo cocks a perfectly manicured eyebrow, “now there’s only _one_ matter left to attend to. The matter of you punishment.”

_Oh, shit._

“The matter of _‘my punishment_ ’?” I parrot Deo, hoping that when he hears his own words back he’ll abandon them.

“Why, yes, of course, Alexander . . .”

_Shit-shit-shit._

“. . . you don’t get to break your routine, cause me woeful concern and then simply skedaddle, scot-free, to a greek isle.” Deo strokes his chin like a trademark villain. The typhoon within his eyes is headed straight for me. “Please know that it will pain me deeply to hurt you.”

Troy finally looks at me, gaping like he’s stabbed me . . . and I just haven’t noticed the blade it yet.

Deo turns to Troy and Hinata. “Parakaló perímene me. Outside.” He says, and the vampires obediently turn and exit the apartment.

It’s just me and Deo . . . and Jace.

My sire releases a mighty pretend exhale, as though he’s feeling terribly regretful that he must do _whatever-it-is_ he's about to do.

I feel Jace’s heartbeat and breathing go ape-shit — _no_ , KingKong-shit! Anxiety has seized ahold of him more mercilessly than any vampire has. It’s not Jace’s body that will been torn though, it’s is self-control! His sanity!

I lance the bathroom door with my most potent side-eye, warning Jace to STAND THE FUCK DOWN. _I know he sees it_ — I feel his gutted reaction; his rebelliousness, his desire to scream: ‘ _fuck you, Alec! I can’t watch him hurt you again and you’re a selfish prick to make me!’_ But, then Jace remembers the promise he made me — that he wouldn’t condemn me to an eternity without him, _and_ . . . he holds his ground. He holds his self-control. He holds his sanity. They all fit within the trembling fist of his devotion to _us_.

Deo’s voice drags my focus to his face. Somehow he can make ‘evil’ look sexy and I hate him even more. “You’ve disappointed me, Alexander, and there are consequences for that. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” I say, fortifying my voice with as much audible steel as possible. I’m nervous — _shit, I’m really nervous_ — but I don’t want Jace and Deo to know it.

“Good.” Deo bows like I’m a prince and then he grins like he’s the god of the universe. “Now then, please turn around and lay your hands on the table. Palms down. Viásou.”

I turn to do as Deo asks. The kitchen table is right behind me so I face it. I bend down and lay my palms flat against it. My recovering fingers are stiff like lead wires, but they’re responsive again.

“Bend over more.” Deo orders like some porno director. “Don’t be shy, stick your backside out. I need a target.”

_A target?! Shit. What’s he gonna do?! Throw darts?! Or . . . or . . . he wouldn’t . . . no. He swore he’d never fuck me._

“Don’t freakout.” Deo chastises as though reading my mind. “I’m not going to fuck you, _although it’s very tempting._ I’m going to spank you eleven times. Do you know why I’m spanking you _eleven times_?”

_Oh, shit._

“Because you called me eleven times and I didn’t answer.”

“Kaló agóri, good boy.”

 _Ugh_. This is humiliating! My sire is gonna spank me like a disobedient child . . . and Jace is watching. _But . . . it is just a spanking_. Deo could have opted to burn me, stab me, cut off a hand or foot or something far, far worse so— mortification aside— I’m actually getting off easy. It’s only eleven swats. I can handle this. Just man up and take it. _It's just a spanking, Alec._

“Backside out, Alexander. I’m waiting.”

_Ugh. Fuckin’ embarrassing._

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, boy.”

“. . . sorry.”

“In greek.”

 _For fuck’s-sake._ “Syngnómi.” _Go fuck yourself you fucking-fuck._

“Kalí douleiá. Now, backside out.”

I shove my pride up my ass and bend over more, pushing my backside out. I think I know what Deo wants to see . . . so I pose myself the way Magnus likes me when a table is involved. Since I’m tall my husband wants me low enough, and angled _just so,_ for the perfect fuck. This position should make for the perfect spank too.

“Brace yourself.”

I don’t get the chance _to_ brace myself. Deo hits me.

 _Hard._

So-fucking-hard that he could’ve sent a rhinoceros flying! The table under me groans as I ride it across the room; slamming into the far wall! I hear the wooden legs fracturing beneath me— _oh wait_ , those aren’t the table’s legs, those are mine. I can’t stand! My legs are sock puppets without a supporting hand. I grip the tabletop like I’m clinging to a cliffside, my legs dangling behind me like streamers. The family of moons have careened into my eyes! I think they’re fucking my eye sockets! My vision is flashing like I’m blinking, but I’m not. Bloody bile surges up my throat and I bite down on my own lip, swallowing — forcing the vomit back down like Jace’s life depends on it. Because it does! Blood dribbles down my chin but it’s not puke-blood, it’s lip-blood. I’ve punctured myself to keep from screaming — to keep from retching!

Jace can’t see me puke! Jace can’t hear me scream!

“Oh dear. Broken already.” Deo states with the emotion of a gravestone. “And that’s only spanking number one.” He’s standing right behind me. “This won’t do. Fortunately for you, _I’m your sire_ and I can control your bones. _So, bones_ , please mend yourselves at once.” He pauses and — _oh my-wow-damn-wow—_ my bones and joints are fizzling like seltzer and — _just like that —_ my legs are whole once more. “I may have struck you a little bit too hard. I’ll go for blood and not breaks for the next ten, yeah?”

I get my feet under me just as strike number two impacts! _FUCK! THAT HURTS!_ The table juts forward — breaking through the drywall and impaling the bedroom! I look up and see the blurry shape of my mattress.

The skin on my backside has broken along with the wall; but my bones withstood the blow. It feels like maple syrup is in my ass crack; dribbling between my thighs and down my legs. But there’s not just blood between my ass cheeks, there's more blood in my cheek-cheeks too. I nearly bit my own tongue off! I want to vomit! I want to scream! But Jace is the sledgehammer slamming the vomit and scream backdown my throat.

“That’s ten. Nine to go.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

(Jace)

I’m one breath away from bursting.

_Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!_

When I detonate I’ll take this entire apartment-city-country-continent with me into hell.

_Calm down, Jace! Fucking calm the fuck down._

_Screw you! That piece of shit is spanking my parabatai! And it’s not even ‘spanking', it’s brutalizing! Deo has already torn open Alec’s shoulders, broken his fingers — his legs!_

_But Alec is a vampire. These physical blows can’t permanently damage him. He’s gonna be fine. He’s gonna be fine. He’s gonna be fine._

Deo and his fanged posse didn’t enter Alec’s apartment alone. They brought my anger with them. And this anger didn’t slither up on me from the shadows, it charged me head on. I felt it coming and I spread my arms wide, embracing my anger like a long lost friend. A friend who’s hissing a pep-talk into my ear: _‘You can do it, Jace. You can make Deo feel the pain you did. You can make him regret ever taking Alec away. You can free Alec. You can!’_

Anger crawls under my skin like little grubs shitting out stimulants, fueling my focus; my determination! I don’t give any fucks over how many lives I have to take as long as I take Deo’s! Take Deo’s because _he took mine_! _He took my Alec!_

I grip the hilt of my seraph blade like it were Deo’s throat. I’m crouched by the bathroom door watching my parabatai being manhandled like it were a demo on ‘Torture Tactics 101’. Once again I’m forced to watch Deo hurt Alec. Only this time there are no vampires restraining my anger, it’s Alec who’s holding me back.

I want to shatter the mirror and squeeze the glass shards like stress balls. I want to bloody my hands. I want to injure myself so that I can’t hold my blade, so that I can’t break down the door — _so that I can’t break my promise to Alec_. But I can’t even do that. I can’t because my blood will lure those vamps to me like tossing a butchered pig into a sharky sea.

Only . . . my anger tells me that I’m the shark; that my seraph blade will butcher them all. And yet, here I am sweating and trembling like the helpless hog. My heart is backed into a corner and having a god-damn panic attack in my chest! I’ve never battled against any demon as powerful as _THIS — this need to save Alec._ Containing my anger is a grand ‘F-U’ to my very DNA; a kick in the balls to our parabatai vow, to _our souls_! Like giving the bleeding, drowning hog a set of wings and a harpoon and then saying ‘sorry, you can’t use ‘em. Just let the sharks devour you.’

I raise my blade for the hundredth time— preparing to ‘go lumberjack’ on the door — to charge that fanged mother fucker and hack him into splinters too!

But I lower my blade for the hundredth time.

I’m failing Alec if I try to rescue him and . . . I’m failing him if I don’t.

_Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!_

“That’s ten. Nine to go.” Deo announces like he giving Alec shots of vodka to pound, not pounding the shit out of his ass!

Alec is hunched over the table, stickin’ his ass out like some slut begging for cock. His teeth look like he’s used tomato soup as a mouthwash. Alec keeps spitting like he’s trying to vomit but can’t quite push the puke up.

Unlike Jumbo Dracula, who was built like a linebacker, Deo has the physique of a soccer pro. He’s lean, athletic and fit, but his biceps aren’t as big as mine. If he were a mundane I’d kill him in armwrestling (then just straight-up kill him). And yet Deo hits like a mutant gorilla with a strength rune. What looked like a sissy slap sent Alec (and the table!) flying across the room and through a wall!

While Alec’s toga covers his ass, much of his lower back and thighs are exposed; and these areas look like raw hamburger doused in salsa. Globs of fleshy tissue and blood are creating a cannibal’s dream porridge on the kitchen floor. I didn’t even know a vampire _could_ bleed this much. Of all the areas for Alec to over-achieve in, he had to pick fuckin’ bleeding. No sooner does Deo break Alec's flesh does his vampire body start to repair itself, which just creates an endless supply of new blood and tissue for Deo to crack into. 

Deo raises his hand and I squeeze my blade — compressing like I can magically make his eyeballs pop outta his head. The vampire’s palm cracks down on Alec’s right ass cheek like it were a hostile assailant. Alec’s knees buckle, but my parabatai is no pussy and maintains his footing. He doesn't beg, cry or scream. Alec just spits more of that tomato soup onto the table top.

Alec Lightwood can take a beating. This is another area where he excels. Over the years I’ve watched him get stabbed, bitten, poisoned, burned and possessed by monsters. _Hell_ , I’ve given him a fair share of beatings myself! But Alec has always gotten back up — literally rising from his grave. My parabatai’s determination is more durable than his vampire hide, and I _have to believe_ that he can endure _this._

I’m just not sure that I can.

Deo strikes Alec again and again and again! Each strike is kindling to my anger; burning away my resolve, my wits and my stockpile of fuck’s to give! Alec’s toga is _so soaked in blood_ that it’s shellacked to his skin like a wet bathing suit. The cannibal porridge is causing Alec’s bare feet to skid, he’s struggling to stabilize himself.

The ancient vampire notices Alec’s slipping feet and he pauses. Deo leans into my parabatai’s back and his arms wrap him like a death shroud, interlocking just over Alec's navel. And now Deo does something that makes my vision redder than the floor, redder than Alec’s spit, redder than the flames of hell! Deo aligns his groin up with Alec’s ass and he . . . _fucking . . . rubs . . . against him._ He’s like some horny dog humping his handlers leg. Deo doesn’t care that his green toga is gettin’ forever tie-dyed for the Christmas season (though only Krampus would be into _this_ kinda red and green). Deo isn’t just a brutal prick, but he’s a perverted one too. I can see _his prick_ bulging under his toga; jabbing at Alec! This sick fuck is turned-on by assaulting _my_ parabatai!

_That’s it! I’m goin’ in!_

I rise and my right foot folds like there’s no floor beneath me. If it weren’t for my soundless rune Alec and Deo would’ve heard me gasp.

Damn this useless foot! It doesn't want to bear weight. I overdid it yesterday. My foot is lookin' like an irritated pufferfish. 

I push against the wall like I can push my pain and sanity back inside my skin.

 _Oh my fucking angel_ , if Deo tries to do _anything_ more than dry-hump Alec I don’t know how I’m gonna watch. I can’t . . . I won’t . . .

_Just remember what Alec said to you, Jace! He said: ‘No matter what you hear, you have promise me that you won’t come out! Stay in this bathroom. Do you understand? If you love me you will stay inside this room. If he sees you, if he even smells you, he’ll make me kill you. Don’t condemn me to an eternity of that. Promise me!’_

_And then you promised him you would!_

Deo takes a step back, removing his arms from Alec (good). But then he caresses Alec's bloody rump like it’s his favorite possession (really bad). _For a moment_ I think that Deo is gonna let Alec off with just the six strikes, but then the next blow comes. And number seven is the doozy. Deo finally makes Alec scream — smacking a sound from him that makes me wish I were deaf.

My memory hosts a nightmarish soundtrack of ‘Alec screams’. As he’s been stabbed, bitten, poisoned, burned and possessed, I thought I’d heard the gauntlet of his vocal range. But this sound is a new one. Maybe his vampire lungs have a vaster range of wretchedness? Alec sounds like an animal — something like a werewolf suffering his first transformation, but while being devoured by an army of fire ants at the same time.

Alec clings to the table like it’s me; his legs swaying like reeds in a storm. I don’t know how he’s still upright. I don’t know how he’s conscious. A part of me is livid — _just pass_ _out_ — and the rest of me is . . . proud. Deo can break every bone in Alec’s body, but he can't break Alec. He can’t break us.

It feels like there are lit matches on my tongue. I just need to spit and Deo will _hear-feel-fear_ the fire of my rage! But my promise to Alec makes me hold these matches in — suffocating their flames in my mouth. Sweat forms a puddle at my feet like Alec’s blood is at his. _Angel’s, mercy! Please, don’t turn your backs on us again!_

“You’re doing well, Alexander. Good boy.” Deo praises Alec like he’s a dog who’s almost potty-trained. “Now, if you’ll just apologize for the stress you’ve caused me then I’ll go gentler for the next four strikes.”

“I’m—I’m sorry.” Alec gags on the words and I gag too — I’d rather watch him eat dog shit than apologize to his murderer.

“For?” Deo presses, but he’s only making me angrier, making Alec angrier.

From behind Deo can’t see Alec’s expression, _but I can_. My parabatai’s fangs are bared; his eyes are hellfire! Alec wants to pound that smug face into hamburger-salsa-cannibal-porridge! He wants to kick Deo in his balls until they deflate! Alec wants to defend himself —his body, his pride — but he _fucking doesn’t_. Instead my parabatai readjusts himself on that table and he braces himself to take another strike. Alec has resolved to be an abuse rag, he’ll absorb everything Deo spills.

And all to protect me.

“What are you sorry for?” Deo coos like a deranged greek dove.

Alec’s closes his eyes like drawbridges to contain his rage. “I’m sorry for making you worry.” My parabatai’s delivery sounds genuine; but _I can feel_ his gut reeling to retch-forth the words.

Deo deals another punishing blow to Alec’s rear! The table grumbles under Alec — it’s going to break — but Alec’s will is only getting stronger. With every strike his relief reaches higher . . . I can almost hear his thoughts: _‘Deo is almost done. He’s almost done! And then he’s gonna leave!’_ And Alec’s hope gives me hope that I can continue to hold back — _hiding like a fuckin’ pathetic pussy—_ for just a few moments more.

‘ _Don’t condemn me to an eternity of that. Promise me!’_

I hate myself for making that promise. But Alec will hate me for all of eternity if I break it and . . . fuck, despite the confidence of my anger, I know that I have a literal Achille's heel. And if I leave this bathroom I’ll be Alec's Achille’s heel too.

“Alexander, I would prefer that you apologized in greek.”

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(Alec)

_Of course he wants me to apologize in greek._

Deo leans into me like I’m a wall he’s trying to push a nail into. And by ‘nail’ I mean his dick. I’m not surprised that my sire is turned-on. Like me, everything arouses him. But I’m not concerned that Deo is gonna 'nail me' because I’ve got the ultimate cock-block between us. _Magnus._ As much as my sire wants to fuck me — and I can feel that he very much does — I think that he wants to appease Magnus more. Those two have some obvious romantic history; and Magnus trusted Deo enough _to kill me, turn me_ and _bond me to him forever_. Deo is clearly still infatuated with Magnus, and he isn’t gonna want to piss him off. And, despite having me murdered, Magnus would never stand for me being defiled . . . as backwards-fucked as that _is_.

If Deo was going to fuck me, I think he already would have. Probably weeks ago. And, even _if_ my sire breaks his vow not to kiss me, suck me or fuck me; well, then Magnus will come down on ‘Deo’s nail’ like a fucking war hammer. At least . . . that’s what I want to believe. Right now, that’s what I _need_ to believe to endure this! Because —if I believe that Magnus won’t — that he’d turn a blind eye to me getting fucked then . . . then . . . I don’t think my heart can breakdown anymore.

_Wow, you really are pathetic, Lightwood. Magnus doesn’t give a shit about you. Look around! Look where you are! And you shouldn’t give a shit if he cares about what happens to you either. The only thing that matters — the only person that matters — is Jace. I have to keep him safe, even if it means . . . getting nailed._

“In greek—” My sire starts, but doesn’t finish. His attention flicks toward the bathroom door and he . . .

. . . _Is he looking at it?!_

Does he know Jace is in there?!

 _No!_

How could he possibly know that?! He doesn’t know that. I’m just paranoid! _But still,_ I don’t want Deo to _even glance_ that way! And so . . . I distract him.

“Sygnómi . . .” I apologize in greek and chase it with a whimper. But it’s not a pathetic whimper like I’m in pain— _no_ , this is a sound I honed while still alive. It’s a sound that comes from my balls; a whimper I’d make for Magnus when he was edging my cock and I just _needed_ him to end me. It always worked.

 _Bingo._

My sex sound wrangles Deo’s attention like some kinky bondage rope. I can almost _feel_ the grin spreading Deo’s lips the way he _so wants_ to spread my legs. Instead he smacks me again, but this blow only rattles my teeth, not my bones. “Don’t turn me on anymore, Alexander.” Deo chuckles, calling me out. “That was number nine. I’m still waiting for you to apologize properly. I want more than a ‘sexy sygnómi’.”

But Deo doesn’t wait for me to offer another attempt — and strike number ten decimates the table. I collapse into a pile of wood splinters which decide that I’m not bleeding enough from my back, ass and thighs, so my knees, shins and hands should contribute gore too.

The typhoon in Deo’s sight has sucked me in! I’m whirling within the eye of the storm. I’ve got no control over where the typhoon will take me or when I’ll be thrown out! And this storm didn’t pick up branches and cars; instead, spinning around me is _everything that has gone wrong_ and _everything that still could_. And in the center of it all is Jace, but I can’t reach him. The law of physics has changed. I’m now orbiting the bloodmoons; the world is upside down and I’m as helpless as a balloon within it.

“Wake up! Xýpna!” Deo’s hands are on my shoulders; he’s shaking me like a snow globe and yanks me to my feet. “You blacked-out and that’s cheating. You need to experience all eleven pats on your bum.” My sire hoists me over to the counter, leaning me against it like I’m a manikin modeling a bloody toga. “Apologize to me properly. This is your last chance.”

I open my mouth and I really hope my teeth aren’t falling out. I spit and spit and spit and say: “S-sygnómi . . . sygnómi. Se parakaló synchóresé me, kýrios.” It wasn’t perfect greek, it was choppy, but it should pass. I begged Deo to ‘please forgive me’ and I think that I correctly called him ‘master’, either that or a ‘cat’.

“Theé agóri.” Deo praises me and grips my shoulders, if he released me I would drop like a stone. My legs have way over-drawn their ‘stability account’.

I just have to endure one more blow . . . Jace just has to endure one more blow . . .

Instead of whacking me, Deo lowers me onto the floor. He handles me as though I were a delicate Persian rug that he doesn’t want to wrinkle. My backside touches down and I groan — it feels like I’m laying on a bed of fangs. The back of my head lands in a tar-like pool. I’m not even sure if this blood is mine or from one of the blood bags I dumped. Probably both.

Deo crouches over me like a concerned lover. The same hand that smacked me across the room now strokes my face with enough gentleness to handle butterfly wings. I peer up at Deo and I have no idea what my expression looks like, but _he’s_ staring _at me_ like I’m a living, breathing, delectably-nephilim-blood-filled body again and . . . he’s hungry. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Alexander.” Deo gushes, and then his lips touch down on my forehead; on my right cheek, and then on my left. The mouth that ended my life could kiss a cobweb without leaving a mark.

Deo pauses, floating his mouth _just over mine,_ and watches my reaction. Bloodlust has changed his eyes, and I’m peering into twin volcanos. “I’ll trade you spanking eleven for a kiss. What do you say?”

“Fuck off.” Is what I say; and then I spit a nice bloody-wad onto his lips.

Deo grunts with amusement, licking my spit like he’s been splashed with fancy champagne. “ _Ah, there’s my Alexander_.”

My sire stands to his full height, looming over me like I’m a shadow that he’s casting.

“You and Magnus are fortunate that I’m a vampire of my word,” Deo declares, as though he expects a standing ovation for not molesting me. “I said I would not kiss you unless you wanted me too, and I will hold true to that.”

“Never.” I reiterate what I’ve already told him many, many times before.

“Never is long time, Alexander. Be open-minded!” Deo makes a hand gesture like his head has exploded. I wish. “You may grow bored of Magnus or the two of you may want a ménage à trois, no? You would enjoy me, you know. Did I ever tell you that am the inventor of oral sex? _Oh yes!_ If you think Magnus has a magical tongue, _well_ , you ain’t felt nothin’ yet. Apolafstikós!” Deo laughs and, even if I could breathe, I wouldn’t be able to. My mind is catching up to Deo’s ranting . . . and my mind is panting _hard. Shit-shit-shit—_ he’s . . .talking about Magnus! He said we were 'lucky' he's a vampire of his word! He alluded that he’s been sucked-off by him! That Magnus and I might want a threesome with him! Jace’s detective-brain is probably spinning in that typhoon! 

“I still owe you one more swat, but . . .” Deo winks at me like it’s totally cool to flirt with someone while they’re laying in a puddle of blood. ". . . I’ll save it. Your ass has taken quite the beating. I’m impressed by the way.” He pauses, seeming to consider beating me with another inappropriate joke, but abandons it and strolls toward the door. “Well then, I’m off. Can’t keep Troy and Hinata waiting! I promised them virgin blood tonight and I’m a vampire of my word, as you know. Besides, you best be off to catch that ferry to Mykonos. Be sure to bring your phone with you. And you must leave your ringer on and answer every time I call. Understand?”

I shake my head, indicating that I do understand. The act makes a foamy-sucky sound like there's soap in my hair.

“Splendid! Well, enjoy your leave and I’ll see you Friday night. Antío gia tóra!” Deo exits my apartment like he’s just been performing on stage— blowing kisses and bowing all the way out.

_Shit . . . did Jace hear everything he said? Of course he did! It’s Jace!_

I close my eyes and just lay here. For starters I can't get up. Secondly because I feel like the ceiling is judging me and I have nowhere else to look. It feels like a million tiny ants are marching across my torn flesh and stitching it back together; but the sensation is really my vamp healing launching into overdrive. I would heal faster if I drank blood, but I’m not gonna drink a drop until Jace gets the fuck outta here!

The nano-second my front door shuts I hear Jace shifting from the opposite side of the bathroom door.

“No!” I hiss like a snake trying to whisper. “Not yet, Ja— _ah_. Just wait. I can’t say your name yet.”

I move my head back and forth, purposely making that foamy-sucky sound as I say: “Ja—Ja—Ja,” until finally “Jace,” comes out.

Quite literally.

My parabatai bursts from the bathroom like real blond bombshell and . . .

. . . he is pissed.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! I wrote my ass off to get this out before 2021, but January 1 is pretty darn close.  
> I hope you will enjoy this angsty chapter. It's a gorey-doozy and Deo isn't making any fans (sweat-drop).  
> THANK YOU to everyone who is reading this and leaving me kudos and (especially) comments! If you are a new reader, or a long-time one who has not left a comment, please do! I'd love the opportunity to THANK YOU personally and say HELLO!!  
> Best wishes to you all and here's to 2021 being FABULOUS! I'm sending 2020 to Deo. ;)  
> Maia's Pen


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

(Jace)

The inferno within me vaporizes any tears before they can escape. I’m enraged with Deo. I’m pissed at Alec. But mostly I loathe myself.

My mind swarms like a hive, but not with actual bees . . . with feelings, _with questions_. The buzzing is deafening. My brain is suffocating. There’s not enough space inside my skull to contain my brain and the ‘feeling-question-bees’; so either they’re gonna have to vacate or my brain will. And it’ll probably ooze outta my ears and that won’t be pretty. There’s one persistent bee who keeps pricking the back of my tongue, and it has ‘Magnus Bane’ tattooed on it’s stinger. But the Queen Bee — the one boring a hole between my eyes — is headed straight for Alec. Ensuring my parabatai’s well-being is ‘priority first and always’. So, for the moment, the ‘Magnus Bane’ stinger will have to leave its venom in my tongue.

Alec says my name and he sounds _shitty_ — like he’s being trying to _'out drink me in tequila shots’_ kind of shitty. I follow the Queen Bee and she leads me through the bathroom door, as in _I kick it_. I kick open the door like I _should’ve_ kicked Deo’s face.

My parabatai looks like he’s had a one-night-stand with a bottle of ketchup. Make that fifty bottles of ketchup. Alec is laying flat on his back; blood surrounding him in a silhouette. Alec’s hair and toga have soaked up _so much blood_ that he’s now a ginger wearing a crimson frock. His thighs, mouth and chin certainly took the brunt of that ketchup; it’s slathered thicker than shaving cream and I only wish it smelled as good.

Parabatai autopilot engages. I drop to my knees and sink into — _what-feels-like —_ cold ketchup too. I pull Alec’s head onto my lap and study him from this upside-down view. Even like _this_ my parabatai is breathtaking. I have to coach myself to breathe. But my heart needs no encouragement — it’s reacting as though I’ve _just outrun_ a thousand bees while in a straightjacket— _shit_ — my chest is tighter than one.

Despite my unsteady foot, brain and heart, my sword-hands don’t fail me. I touch Alec’s face with all ten fingers — skimming over his eyes, cheeks, nose and lips— feeling for injuries. I find none.

My touch rouses Alec’s attention. He looks up at me, squinting like I’m the sun. Alec’s eyes are tinged like he has pinkeye and . . . _he has the fucking gall to smile_. Alec’s teeth are stained to match his eyes and I catch the glint of his fangs.

“Jace.” Alec says my name like I’m some idol he’s unworthy to behold. “Thank you, Jace, you kept your promise. _Thank you, my parabatai, thank you_.”

I raise my hands and Hulk-Smash the floor on either side of his head!

Alec and his smile don’t flinch.

“That was _so beyond fucked_ , Alec!” I don’t want to shout at him, _but I am_! I damn-well am! Half of those bees are spraying outta my mouth! Alec should be flinching from the sting! I _want_ him to flinch, but he’s Mr. Skeleton-Smiley-Still. My hands slide —literally as he’s soaked in blood — over Alec’s shoulders, his chest, his biceps, his forearms— _everywhere_ that I can possibly reach just to _feel_ him. _Feel_ that his body is intact like his face. “Are you alright?! By the angel! That was hell, Alec! That was—”

“Not worse then when I died.” Alec states calmly, the inflammation fading from his eyes. I’m gazing into my favorite brown ones again.

“You have me there.” I admit, though I sound like my throat is closing-up. Maybe I’m allergic to the bee stings and I’m gonna asphyxiate? I lay my palms over his ice-chest of a chest. “No, not worse than that. _Nothing could ever be worse than that_ , but, Alec! I thought . . . I thought that Deo was gonna kill you permanently, or that he was going to— going to—”

 _Kiss you? Suck you? Fuck you?_ The words are decay in my mouth, and yet, I can’t spit them out.

“He didn’t. And, even if he did, it still wouldn’t be worse than him killing me, would it?” Alec is using his ‘Clave diplomat tone’ and his smile is steadfast; he’s ‘lubing me up’ with all of his best ‘calm the Jace dragon’ tactics.

I splay my fingers in Alec’s chest hair and then squeeze them together like faux scissors; it looks like curly, dark mohawks are growing between each digit. Alec opts not to comment on my handsiness (nor do I have an explanation for said handsiness), but touching him relaxes me like whisky.

“. . . no . . . no, it wouldn’t . . .” I mumble like I _have_ been downing whisky though. “Nothing is worse than you dying.”

Alec nods like he’s just kicked ass in diplomacy, but doesn’t wanna brag; then he shifts, preparing to sit up. I press my palms into his pectorals, pushing downward, gripping those mohawks and shake my head. “No, Alec! By the angel, can you even sit up? _Should you_ even sit up? What-what do I do? How can I help you? Do you want me to get you some-some blood from the fridge or—”

“I’m fine, Jace. I’ll drink after you leave. I’m okay. Deo only hit me with physical blows, not sunlight.” To illustrate his words Alec maneuvers outta my grasp 'Houdini-style', and then springs to his feet! Now _I’m_ looking up at _him_ like he’s the idol. “I’m alright, see?” Alec insists, grinning like he didn’t just have the ever-unliving-shit beat outta him. “My vampire healing is fast.”

Well, that’s the understatement of the century. I watch as the skin on his thighs morphs from hamburger-salsa into _barely a rash —_ like one of my internal bees stung him. 

“Your ass was bleeding like crazy. It was so fucked.”

“Not the first time.” My parabatai says and then . . . _laughs_.

I’m not laughing. I’m fuming. Officially fumigating all of these damned bees from my skull!

“What the fuck, Alec?!” If I were the real Hulk his floor would be punished worse than his ass! I pound the marble to emphasize every single word: “Are you making an anal sex joke? _Seriously?!_ ”

Alec flaunts a distractingly beautiful smile, like he’s trying to secretly stab me with a sedative. “I’m a vampire, Jace. I don't want you to worry. I’m totally fine."

I climb to my feet (the visual isn’t some fancy acrobatic maneuver like Alec’s, thanks to my right foot), but I’m upright and I’m _glaring up —_ right at him! “Bullshit! I’m your parabatai! I know when you’re lying!”

“Isn’t that _my line_ , Jace? Aren’t you the one who usually lies to me? Oh, and always over Clary?” Alec’s words are over-salted and raise my blood pressure. Dying didn’t reduce his sodium levels at all. _Good._

“Lay off Clary, stop trying to change the subject. You're not gonna distract me by making jokes or bringing up our past. I couldn’t quite _feel_ your deception before, Alec, _but I can now_. Our bond is growing stronger and clearer every moment that we’re together. I know you feel it too.” I verbally prick Alec like the ‘Magnus Bane’ stinger still stuck in my tongue. Now that I know Alec is ‘totally fine’ (and salty as fuck), it’s time to tweeze that fucker out. 

My parabatai is a complete shit at playing dumb, but _he does it anyway_ : “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Listen, I’m fine, okay? So can we just—”

“Well, I’m not fine.” I close the distance between us — I could punch him if I wanted too — which I almost _do!_ “I’m not even close to fine, Alec! We have to talk about Magnus.”

Alec stiffens like his sire’s filthy cock. The darkness in his eyes chases me into a space too small to hold both me and the ‘Magnus Bane’ stinger.

“What . . . are you talking about?” 

“Stop it!” I raise my hands to shove Alec — he braces himself — but . . . I don’t. My hands grab and hold his instead. Alec’s fingers feel like they’ve been making snowballs, and yet my body reacts like he’s been . . . _touching my balls._ _What the fuck?_ A sinful combo of hormones and heat sears from his hands into mine — warming my bloodstream like real whisky does. This heated concoction flash-fries every nerve up my arms and then diverges, surging north and south. I’m blushing. I know I’m blushing. _Why am I blushing?!_ And Alec can see that I’m blushing! _Fuck,_ my face feels fevered; my lower abdominals and thighs clench; it feels like butterflies are havin’ a hoedown in my gut! Why is my body reacting like _this?!_ I’ve experienced this physiological reaction before . . . but, I haven’t felt like this since . . . since I first met Clary and she would touch me or look at me with those helpless, needy eyes . . .

I drop a few F-bombs along with Alec’s hands — yanking mine away like he’s given me frostbite. I step backward. . . two steps back . . . _fuck_ , every member of the beehive is back! Those buzzing fuckers have crammed my brain into a pressure-cooker! My balls too! My cock is suffering from some bipolar disorder because it’s like a balloon mid-blow-up —getting semi-hard and deflates, semi-hard and deflates again. I grit my teeth until my sinuses pop; shaking my head like I can shake the bees outta my ears and they’ll pop the balloon in my pants.

 _What’s wrong with my body?_ I’m not sexually attracted to Alec, _no way_. He doesn’t have anything that I like. I like tits and curves, small hands and tight lady holes — mouth, pussy, ass. And Alec doesn’t have those. He has big hands, they’d probably make my dick look smaller. He has a mouth. But it's got fangs, _no thanks_. And just because he’s good at sucking away fun doesn’t mean he’s good at sucking cock. And he has an ass, a fuckin’ strong one too. It can take a beating . . . and _I do_ prefer anal to vaginal. The ass is _so much tighter_ , and Clary is such a prude. She won’t even let me stick a finger up her ass, and, _what the fuck am I even thinking about!?_ Alec is not a woman. He doesn't have a pussy. Clary does and I want hers. ALEC IS A MAN. WITH A COCK! So, no, I’m in no way sexually attracted to Alec. So, that means there is a logical explanation for my bipolar arousal.

_Um . . ._

_Okay, yeah:_ Alec’s vampire physiology is making _him_ hyper-aroused by everything. Therefore _that_ is clearly influencing my own physiology through our bond.

 _Yeah, that’s gotta be it._ My cock is not into cock. No matchy-matchy. No twinning. No way. The end.

“Jace?” Alec doesn’t approach me with his body, but I can feel him reaching through our bond — trying to figure out why my face is redder than his own blood-splattered one. My swarm of emotions is too deafening and volatile and —with our still weakened bond—Alec can’t catch any of my feelings long enough to examine them. And for that: I am hella thankful.

“Alec . . .” saying his name calms me like a deep breath. I refocus on the topic festering between us: lying. “Since when do you lie to me?”

Alec makes a dickish-pissy face, like some dick pissed _on_ his face. “Well, I have demon blood now. I’m a monster and monsters lie.”

“Shut up. I heard Deo. _He knows Magnus._ And it sounds like he knows him incredibly well.” I make a gesture with my hand like I’m cramming a cock into my mouth. Alec’s eyes pop open like I were cramming one into his. “So Deo is one of Magnus’ many, many ex-lovers, right?” I slash the bees one-by-one like dead-end clues. “Does that mean you’re a revenge killing? No . . .” I start limp-pacing around the kitchen. “That doesn’t add up. What did Deo mean when he said _‘you and Magnus are lucky that I’m a vampire of my word’_? Why did he think you might be game for a threesome with him? Isn’t Magnus under his ‘super brainwashing encanto’ shit? Or is he just pretending? Is he trying to _protect me_ from coming out here? Or _prevent me_ from coming out here? Do you know why Deo killed you?”

Alec just stands there dripping blood; gaping at me like I’m speaking in tongues. I look around for something to hit, but Deo trashed the table and the sofa is already in shambles thanks to me. I settle for kicking at the floor, which is stupid, because I kick with my right foot. _FUCK THAT HURTS._

“ _Well?_ Do you know why Deo killed you? And don’t gimme any of that bouncer bullshit! You said you saw Magnus here in Athens, but I assumed he didn’t rescue you because he was brainwashed. _But, Alec_ , does he actually . . . _know_ you’re here? Like he consciously _knows_ you’re Deo’s slave? If Magnus isn’t brainwashed then . . . is Deo blackmailing him? Holding you over him? Forcing some kinda deal? If so then you have to fill me in, dammit. Magnus must be going mad with frustration . . . and that actually explains why he’s acting like a lunatic . . . he’s tryin’ to protect me from Deo and is probably biding his time, tryin’ to figure out how to break the brainwashing on everyone else and save you, right? But that doesn’t explain why Deo said ‘you’re lucky I’m a vampire of my word’. _What word?_ What the fuck am I missing?”

I look to Alec as though the clue I’m missing will be pinned to his nose for my plucking. But Alec looks as though some grandma just winked at him . . . and then slapped his ass.

“Alec?!” I yell loud enough that every granny in this apartment complex can her me. “What’s going on?!”

“Jace . . . you have to leave. I can't. I just can't.”

“What?!” I step forward and reach for Alec, but his vamp reflexes dodge my embrace just like my questions. “Nope. No way. I’m not leaving. I’m going to Mickey’s Nose with you.”

“Mickey’s _wha—?_ _Mykonos?_ ” Alec makes a face like the granny blew him a kiss. “No. No way, Jace. It’s too dangerous. I agreed to let you rest here to gain back some strength, and you have. So go back to New York. You have to heal that foot already.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’m like a burdock and I’m gonna stick to you _and_ jab at you until you’re honest with me. Are you trying to protect Magnus? If so, I get it. And, I know he’d never harm a hair on your head on purpose so—”

“Except the gray ones.” Alec mutters, looking down.

My memory plays our conversation from the night Alec died. Magnus was turning into a ‘Wedding Plannerzilla’— he was driving Alec crazy, asking for his aid to select ‘the perfect shade of white’ for the napkins and shit. Alec joked that the stress gave him a gray hair, which Magnus promptly plucked. It was fucking funny! But . . . Alec isn’t laughing now . . .

Is it because he’ll never grow a gray hair again? Or . . . what am I missin—

“Well,” Alec makes a fake huffing sound, “you’ll be a dead burdock if you don’t go home. And I don’t have a choice, I can’t stay in Athens. I have to leave for Mykonos tonight. I’m sire-bonded to go there, the need to go there is like your need to breathe, Jace.”

“And I need to be close to you more than I need to breathe.” I close the distance between us; gripping Alec’s shoulders like Deo did, but without the intention to cause him pain. “I’m going with you. You’ll have to kill me to stop me.”

My parabatai shakes his head ‘no’; but there's a needy inferno blazing within his eyes, and those flames are reaching toward me. Alec’s negative back-and-forth evolves into a positive up-and-down. He curses in greek (impressive), but then shrugs outta my grasp like I’m the offending granny (not impressive)!

“Shit-damn-fuck.” Alec swears like a proper American and starts pacing, but he doesn’t limp, he just drips blood like it’s irritation. “Mykonos could be really dangerous. . . what-if—”

“There are a billion what-if’s, Alec! I’m going with you.”

“Okay,” Alec relents, “I’ll agree to this as long as _you promise_ to run away at the first sign of danger?”

“Fine.” I lie.

“You’re lying.”

“We can sort it out once we get there.” I say. “ _But_ neither of us are goin’ anywhere until you tell me the truth about Deo and Magnus.”

“I will, but, not here . . . we can’t waste time.” Alec’s attention flicks to his kitchen clock and then back to me. “You go on ahead without me. I’ll meet you at Rafina Port. I’m sire-bonded to run there and I can’t carry you because I’ll . . . I’ll want to bite you. It’s safer for you to take an Uber. And then I’ll tell you the truth, _everything,_ once we’re in Mykonos. _I promise_.”

I raise my hands like I’m halting traffic. Did Alec just say that . . . he wants us to _separate?!_

Alec knows that a mighty protest is about to roar from my lips, so he heads it off: “It’s safer this way, Jace, and it’s _the only way_.”

“Fuck, Alec, I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to like it, you just have to do it.” Alec sprays his salty words and I concede, choking down my yearly allowance of sodium. I’m gonna be bloated. 

“Fine.” I seethe. "Let me just grab a quick shower and take a piss first. I almost pissed myself watching Deo assault you. Plus, look at my hands." I wiggle my bloody fingers for proof. "I'm covered in your blood. No Uber is gonna pick me up.”

“Alright, but you have to hurry,” Alec chides, as though I’m just trying to procrastinate. “But after your shower you need to put back on your own clothes and get outta here. Leave the toga. I need to blood-binge in private so that I can fully heal and sate _my needs_ for the ferry ride. I won’t be able to be around you otherwise.”

“Okay, no problem. And Mykonos sounds great. A few days on a greek isle with my parabatai . . . you can wait on me hand and foot so I can rest my busted one!” I razz Alec, poking him in the ribs and he growls. “And this buys us a few days to strategize without Deo showing up.”

“Hopefully.” Alec grumbles, not looking very hopeful (which is his normal expression).

I glance at his kitchen clock. It’s 9:13PM and that ferry is supposed to leave at 10PM (or as Deo said, more likely closer to 11PM ‘greek time’). I have plenty of time to shower and make it to the port.

I walk toward the bathroom but one pesky bee sucker-stings me. “Alec, I’m _never, ever_ gonna watch him hurt you again.”

“I know.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

(Jace)

The salty Mediterranean air gives Alec a run for his money. I’m sitting on the top deck of _The Penelope_ ferryboat and the wind has decided to style my hair. I’m probably rockin’ the ‘electrocuted look’. The wind has thrown in a complementary exfoliation treatment. My face and scalp have been buffed with so much sand I could probably make a castle.

There are only a handful of passengers up here with me, the rest are below deck where there’s a bar. A piano and several voices penetrate the floorboards with a 1980’s-themed sing-along. The ferry is large — at capacity it could probably carry over two hundred people— but I’d bet there are less than seventy on here. I guess most people prefer to sail under sunlight.

My cellphone reminds me that it’s 11:02PM. The same time it was when I checked three seconds before. Despite the late hour, and the briny breeze, it’s _hot_ out here. Even Satan would be sweating. I’ve already perspired through my new outfit: a t-shirt and shorts that I bought before the port souvenir shop closed. I bought Alec a new outfit too. He can’t travel to Mykonos dressed like a stripper. And I can’t wait to give it to him _when_ he shows up. I’ve been here for over thirty minutes, and I expected we’d arrive around the same time. I can’t call Alec or send a fire message for an ETA, but I’m not freaking out because . . . _I feel that he’s coming_.

I can feel Alec coming to me just like I can feel the waves nudging the hull. The water kisses the hull again, and again and again — the affection is unapologetic yet gentle, like an overbearing auntie. The waves aren’t trying to harm the ferry, just rock her, comfort her — the same way Alec is comforting me through our bond now. Each time the waves break it’s like Alec saying _‘I’m almost there. Almost. Almost. Almost.’_

And so I, Jonathan Impatience Herondale (okay, so my middle name is actually ‘Christopher’, but I’m making a point here), is just sitting on a bench, soakin’ up the lunar rays, and dazzling every star in the sky with my patience.

On one side of _The Penelope_ is Rafina Port, which is just an empty pavilion of benches as all of the passengers have boarded. And everywhere else is a seemingly endless stretch of ocean. Under the moonlight the water looks like ink. If there’s a horizon out there, I can’t see it. The celestial light reminds me that — while New York City’s artificial lights outshine Athens — the greek sky totally kicks ass in the natural light department. It’s like the heavens have been gift wrapped by Magnus, and he used the bougiest possible tissue paper: obsidian black with thousands of diamonds strewn throughout.

_Speaking of the bougie warlock. . ._

The group chat I share with Clary, Izzy, Simon and Magnus pings.

Magnus: _‘How is Paris treating you, Jace? Is your foot holding up? I do wish you would call, when time allows, of course.’_

I type: _‘How do you know Deo?! And, FYI, he just spanked the fuck outta Alec!’_ Then delete it.

 _Shit._ This is my second night in Greece and I haven’t called Clary or my friends even once. I don’t want them to get suspicious, but I don’t really want to talk to anyone either. _Ugh._ Duty calls and so do I. I do a hard press on the words ‘Magnus Bane’. The warlock answers on the first ring.

“Jaaaace!” Magnus says my name like he’s casting a spell. “You’re on speakerphone. Clary, Izzy and I are at the coffee lounge on 3rd.”

“Hiya, Jace!” Izzy’s greeting sounds like a cheer; she’s downright giddy. I wonder what’s _really_ in her coffee cup? Probably the ‘Magnus coffee cocktail special’.

“Hey, hottie, I miss you so much.” Clary’s voice makes me shift like the bench is uneven, but my seat is perfectly level . . . it’s my conscience that’s teetering.

“Hey, everyone!” I pour robust bravado into my tone. “I’m doing great! Paris is amazing, I love it here. But I miss everyone, Simon excluded, and you can tell him I said so.”

Everyone laughs. _Good._

“When are you coming hooooome?” Clary wines with extra neediness. 

“Now, biscuit,” Magnus scolds, “he only just left.”

“She wants _The D_ ,” Izzy giggles like she’s spilling some hilarious secret. _Yep_ , there’s no caffeine in that coffee cup.

“Izzzzzzy! Shhhhaaahahaha!” Clary cackles like a witch, so . . . she must be boozing too. Alcohol makes my fiancée crazy-hyper and chatty. Which is _fine,_ good on her, only . . . _wait_.

Not good on her.

My temper and rationale are both walking the plank, and one of them is gonna shove the other to the sharks.

 _What the fuck . . ._ it’s nighttime in Greece, but it’s just after 4PM in New York. Why are they wasted?! I expect Magnus to be suckin’ spirits, but not the girls. As far as they’re concerned: Alec is dead-dead. I get that Clary and Izzy are being brainwashed by Deo, but Alec hasn’t even be gone two months; and they think it’s okay to party?! At 4PM?! That it’s okay to chat about my _‘D’_!? They are acting so abnormally-normal. It's creepy. 

My temper wins, it sneak-attacks my rationale and feeds the sharks.

“Well, I guess neither of us gets what we want, Clary.” My words gush outta my mouth like vomit. “I want Alec to come back to life.”

 _Aw, Shit._ Thinking of vomit, is it too late to feed that shark some ipecac? I could use my rationale back right about now.

My friends have either dropped the phone into a sewer-grate _or_ no one is talking. I hold my breath for several seconds . . .and then Magnus purrs into my earhole. “We all want that, Jace. But we must learn to accept that which we cannot change.”

“I’m sorry, Jace,” Izzy sounds sorry. “That was insensitive of me.”

The shark was bulimic. My rationale climbs back aboard.

“Listen, I love you all. I shouldn’t have snapped. You’re right, Magnus, and I do accept that Alec is gone. It’s just that mourning him, well, it sucks.” I clench my jaw against the urge to puke for real. “And, Clary, I totally get that you’re having ‘Jace withdrawal’, I mean, _I’m me._ But I just need some time alone, okay? I probably won’t call again for a few days, but I’ll check in through text.”

“Okay. I love you and I’m here for you, Jace.” Clary still sounds like she drank too much bubbly, but at least she’s not cackling. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you too.” Seconds Izzy. “And I can’t wait to _finally_ see you two get married. And to celebrate with you!”

“Coffee my ass, it sounds like you’re already celebrating.” I tease and everyone laughs again. _Good._

“What’s a day without a cocktail or two or seventeen?” Magnus jests.

“A fully-functioning liver?” I offer.

The girls snicker and I ‘ipecac-up’ a laugh too.

“Well, Jace,” Magnus continues, “I’m only a portal away. I can be in Paris at the drop of a beret, if you need me. There’s actually a fantastic bridal boutique near your Air BnB. I’ve been meaning to pop in to admire their chair-skirts. The stitching is so elegant! Amélie, the seamstress, _well,_ she found the _absolutely perfect_ shade of virgin pearl fabric—”

I gnaw-off Magnus’ words. “Virgin pearl fabric?” My rationale has just leapt overboard and fed itself to Jaws (and he ain’t worried about his waistline). “That reminds me of my last conversation with Alec.”

“Oh?” Comes Magnus.

“Yeah, he said that all of your fussing over different shades of white gave him a gray hair.”

“And?” Comes Magnus again, tone as though he were talking my food order over the phone.

“And—” I start, but I don’t finish. My abdomen cramps and — _shit—_ the subject of our conversation is walking up the ferry steps. Alec has a ticket in his hand; a toga on his bod; and a look on his face that flashes like a middle finger. Alec’s vamp ears have heard our conversation. “—And . . . nothing.” I whisper. “I just miss him.”

“I miss him too.” Magnus says, and Alec looks like he’s been gutted with a rusty fish hook. “We’ll leave you to mourn in peace, Jace. Bonne nuit.”

“Au revoir.” I hang up.

The moon spotlights Alec’s devastation on the outside while our bond roasts me with it on the inside. But there isn’t any moonlight in here, the burn is like a thousands suns— penetrating every crevice between muscle, joint and bone. For a moment I think my flesh is gonna melt from my bones, that I’m gonna ‘go down’ like a golden candle . . . but Alec’s eyes prevent my body from turning into wax. His gaze is deep enough to drown in . . . the pull of him is stronger than any undertow and I rise, closing the distance between us like the tide to the shore. I need to find out why Magnus’ voice is hurting him like _this . . . hurting us like this . . ._

A few passengers are watching Alec and commenting on his slutty toga. _Oh right!_ The tide doesn’t quite make it to the shore yet.

I gimp-backpedal and snag the bag with Alec’s new clothes. These clothes will turn his frown upside down— _no, nope_. This is Alec. At best these'll turn his frown into a slightly-less-frown. But that will have to do, this deck isn’t the best place to interrogate him about his feelings. I need to wait until we get to Mykonos. I need wait until we’re alone.

“Here!” I extend the bag. “I got you a new outfit.”

My parabatai eyes the gitchy souvenir bag as though it were full of shrunken heads. Then those bronze searchlights scrutinize my appearance. I’ve glamoured myself to look like a runeless mundane. My stele is in my pocket and my seraph blade is strapped to my back, but no one can see them, not even Alec. What everyone _can_ see is these pastel-blue short-shorts (that hug my junk like a second skin); these white sneakers (which I barely squeezed my swollen foot into) and this white t-shirt. The t-shirt is a bit snug —so my muscles are over-accentuated— and it has a cutesie graphic of a slice of bread with jelly on it. The shirt reads: ‘. . . TO MY JELLY’. It might as well say: ‘. . . KICK A PUPPY’ from the way Alec is eyeing it, _but_ he says nothing and accepts the bag.

“Why were you talking to Magnus?”

“I have to keep up appearances.” I answer truthfully.

“You shouldn’t have brought up our conversation about the gray hair.”

“Why?”

“You just shouldn’t have and . . . _ew._ ” Alec looks like he’s sniffed a shrunken head. “What’s that noise?”

I listen and . . . _yeaahhhh!_ I start limp-dancing in place! Which, _I hope,_ looks better than it feels. The sing-along downstairs has exploded into another popular ’80’s dance song. I don’t know the name of the song, but I know the words. I pretend that I’m holding a microphone and serenade Alec: “Annnnnnd if you ask me how I'm feeeeeling . . . don't tell me you're too blind to see! Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down! Never gonna run around and desert you . . .” I boogie-orbit Alec, gettin’ low and add a twerk. "Never gonna make you cry! Never gonna say goodbye! Never gonna tell a lieeeee and hurt you!”

Alec shows me that he still has a middle finger on each hand, and then retreats into the nearby restroom to change. I keep groovin’ and singing along with the folks below deck. It’s not the healthiest choice for my foot, but I’m having . . . _fun?_ I’d forgotten about fun.

I know that Alec can hear me, so I crank-up my ‘drama dial’, pouring passion into my voice: “We've know each other for so loooong . . . your heart's been aching, _but_ you're too shy to say it! Inside we both know what's been going on! We know the game and we're gonna play it—”

 _The Penelope_ trembles and her engine hums. _Finally!_ We’re departing the port! Alec and I are on our way to Mykonos! We’re really going to spend the week together. _Just us._ I need to have Alec all to myself. I need to breathe him and feel him and ride him like a fuckin’ pony—- _er_ , in a non-sexual way, _of course_. I mean like, he can piggy-back me from the Mykonos port to Deo’s house (where I’ll break all the furniture). _Obviously that’s what I meant by ‘ride him’._

Alec emerges from the restroom like it’s a tomb, he looks as though he’s been buried alive with Simon for a century.

“What the fuck, Jace!?” Alec points to his own pastel-blue short-shorts that _really_ highlight he’s packin’ peen (that bastard!). He's still wearing his golden greek sandals, which look super funny with the shorts. Then he gestures to his t-shirt, which is white like mine, but has a graphic of a slice of bread with peanut butter on it and reads: ‘YOU’RE THE PEANUT BUTTER . . .”

“Surprise!” I shout, waving my arms like victory flags. “We’re matchy-matchy! Twinning!”

“Twinning.” Alec spits the word like a demonic curse. “We look ridiculous.”

“Nah, we look good. C’mere, I’ll prove it.” I grab Alec’s hand and interlock our fingers, which is gay-ish, _but_ if I don’t latch on tight he’ll break away. I have a large hand, but Alec's is larger and I . . . _like_ the way mine feels in his. I mean, only because Alec’s hand is cold and mine’s hotter than the devil’s dickhole. I tow Alec toward a pair of attractive girls sipping wine on the bow.

“Good evening, ladies.” I greet them, grinning like I’m sexy and I know it. Double sets of green eyes do a double-take as they take-in our dashing parabatainess. The girls salute us with Irish or Scottish-sounding accents; either way they speak English, which is a relief. I didn’t think to active my _Speak in Tongues_ rune before boarding. “What do you ladies think of our shirts? Cute, right? My boy here is shy, he needs convincing.”

“Oh, you lads! Those couple’s shirts are mighty precious!” Swoons the taller girl, a saucy-looking redhead. She nudges her equally saucy-looking brunette friend. “Whadda you think, Emma? These two are models, right?”

Emma nods in agreement. “Yes, yes, they’re most certainly models. So handsome.”

“Yes, we _are_ models.” I confirm proudly, then squeeze Alec’s hand tighter for effect. "Just a couple of gay models.”

Alec’s jaw drops so hard and fast he almost anchors the boat! He glares at me, at our interlocked hands and tries to tug himself free! I constrict my fingers like I’m an octopus. Alec can’t pry me off without breaking my hand.

“You two are gems! What a hot couple!” The redhead beams, making a heart shape with her hands to gaze at us through. “How long 'ave you lads been datin’?”

“We’ve been together since we were kids.” I share, and it’s _not exactly_ a lie.

“So adorable!”

“I _know_ I’ve seen ya on instagram!”

“You were on the cover of G.Q, right?”

“Thank you, ladies! Flattery _would_ get you everywhere _if_ we were straight.” I blow them a kiss ‘Lorenzo Rey style’ so it has flare. “Thanks for liking our shirts. Have a great evening!” I wave as Alec drags me across the deck, pulling like I were a net full of flailing fish. He stops once we reach a section void of passengers and pries my fingers from his hand.

“Jace! Why did you tell them that?! _Models_?! _Gay_ models! What if they’d asked for a photo? What if they try to search for us online? What if they take a photo when we’re not look--”

“Relax, Alec. Your gonna turn your vamp hair gray next.” I jab him in his peanut butter bread cartoon, which happens to be the valley where his pectorals meet. _That’s some hard bread_. “Just thank me, after all, I just fished us up a barrel full-o-compliments. _Besides_ , if the ladies on this ship think we’re a couple then it’ll spare us from having them hittin’ on us for the entire trip. I’m like a shark among minnows, Alec, I turn heads everywhere I go.”

I’m surprised Alec’s gargantuan eye roll didn’t roll over the boat.

“ _Wow_. Well . . .” my parabatai narrows his eyes and something snarky is tryin’ to shimmy through those lashes. “. . . if you’re a shark than I’m Godzilla.”

“Why do you get to be Godzilla? You’re not _that_ tall. . .”

“Because _I’m_ at the top of the food-chain here.” Alec’s voice drops an octave, changing from snarky to snarly. “I can eat _you_ and _everyone else_ on this ship.”

“Actually no,” I point out, “Deo banned you from biting any humans.”

Alec leans down like he’s .. . _like he’s gonna kiss me_. . . he opens his mouth and . . . snaps at the air, biting _just over_ my lips. “You’re not human.”

 _Fuck._

_Not again!_ That infuriating fever is spreading through my skin! _Fuck!_ Biting at me was . . . threatening and immature and flirty and— _no, not flirty—_ just teasing and . . . and .. . am I fuckin’ flustered?! What does my face look like right now?! I hope I don’t _look_ flustered. I don’t _do_ flustered!

 _What the fuck?!_ I’m not even touching Alec this time. There is no physical contact to arouse him; and it’s his skin that’s hyper-sensitive, _right?!_ Not mine. So how is our bond interpreting _whatever-the-fuck_ this is into making _ME_ the flustered, semi-turned-on one again?! I casually fold my hands over my semi. Thank the angel it’s only a semi. These shorts wouldn’t be able to contain the entire ‘Herondale Experience’! Alec can’t know about this. He can never know about this! There is obviously a glitch in our bond and it needs to repair itself ASAP without any XXX. Maybe I should hop overboard and search through shark shit until I find my rationale? That cold ocean water would do wonders for my groin.

 _Ughhh!_ I know I look flustered.

Alec stands straight as a ship-mast, puffing out his peanut butter chest and smirking like he’s just bested me in archery . . . bind-folded. But his cockiness has a short lifespan and his smirk dissolves into concern.

“What’s wrong?” Alec asks.

I can _feel_ his apprehension just like the heat on my face.

“Huh? Nothing—”

“Why’s your heart beating so fast, Jace? And your cheeks look flushed. Do you have a fever?” Alec taps my forehead as though I were wet paint. "Are you feeling alright? Have you eaten? Are you hydrated? Are you tired? Or did . . . did I make you nervous? I’m sorry if I did.”

“No way.” I insist, because everything he’s saying is dumb as fuck. “I’m fine. It’s insanely hot out here, Alec, so of course my face is gonna flush. Plus I’m still pissed from watching Deo pound you, it’s probably blood pressure too. And I ate four gyros and downed a six pack of water at the port. I’m not tired either. I slept the entire day away, I’m wide awake. And, _please_ ,” I perform a macho-sounding huff, “as if _you_ could ever make _me_ nervous.” Everything I'm saying is true, I'm just leaving out the 'you air-snapping at my face kinda turned me on' part. So I'm not lying-lying. 

Alec isn’t convinced. _Of course._ He’s eyeing me like I’m a bomb he needs to defuse. “I think you should rest, Jace. The ferry ride is five hours. If you lay out on this bench, I’ll keep watch.”

“Keep watch?” I look around . . . nothing but boozing mundanes, many of which have white hair. “I know that our circumstances are . . . not ideal, but, we _could_ actually try to enjoy our time together.”

“By role playing as models? No thanks.” Alec folds his arms, smothering the peanut butter cartoon. And, fortunately, my own tight shorts have smothered my semi away as well. 

Below deck another song is lighting-up those piano keys. A chorus of joyful, drunk voices are singing along. _The Penelope_ is a ferry designed for comfort and entertainment —to make even a crabapple of a person toss the crab part overboard. At least for a little while.

“Alec, your ass is totally healed right?”

“Yeah, I blood-binged before I ran here. That healed everything fully.”

“So you’re not blood-lusting for these mundanes, right? Being around these people doesn’t make your tummy rumble _at all?_ ”

“No. Not at all. Deo nixed the craving outta me. These mundanes are completely unappealing. As gross as ever.”

“Great! I have an idea then. C’mon!” I limp-jog to the stairs and descend into source of the sounds. I know Alec is following me. _He can’t not follow me_. This party room is larger than a fast-food restaurant and mundanes are packed in here like french fries. It’s painted yellow and actually smells like french fries too, sweaty ones. There are dozens of mundanes seated on benches and even more crowding the bar in the back. The mundanes are sticking to that bar like plankton; the poor bar tender can’t pour drinks fast enough to fill every outstretched cup.

To my left is the pianist — a chubby thirty-something guy wearing a tank top and a bowtie. Chubbykins is surrounded by passengers singing in a variety of drunken accents. It sounds like several radio stations are blasting the same song, but each is on a slight delay and being sung in a different language . . . no wonder everyone is drunk, they’d go insane otherwise.

I recognize the tune as another '80's hit: “ _I tell myself that I can't hold out forever. I said there is no reason for my fear. ’Cause I feel so secure when we're together, you give my life direction, you make everything so clear. And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight . . . You’re a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night. And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might . . .”_

“And I can't fight this feeling anymooooore”! I know the words so I hop in and sing along! “I've forgotten what I started fighting fooooor!”

I whirl around on my left toes to check on Aec. He’s an arms-length behind me, pushing past mundanes and glaring like he really _is_ Godzilla and wants to stomp on their heads. I can see Alec grinding his teeth like the song is grinding on his sanity or on his . . .

 _Shit . . ._ my abdomen is cramping again.

“Calm down, Alec.” I shout. I know that he hears me even though I can’t hear myself. The mundanes are _really_ into this song and they are deafening!

_“It's time to bring this ship into the shoooore, and throw away the oars, forever! 'Cause I can't fight this feeling anymooooore! I've forgotten what I started fighting fooooor! And if I have to crawl upon the floor, come crashing through your door, baby, I can't fight this feeling anymoooore . . .”_

It feels like my liver has spin kicked me from the inside. I nearly double-over. Alec is really . . . _upset_. But it’s emotional distress, not physical. He’s not hungry, _he doesn’t even want to bite these mundanes. It’s something else_ . . . something I can’t decode through our bond just yet. But I exist to make my parabatai happy. I am bond-bounded to cheer him up, and so that’s what I’m going to do.

I weave my way through the drunkards to the portly pianist and tap him on the shoulder. Eyes bluer than my shorts glower up at me. “I willa take de request after dis a song.” Chubbykins’ english isn’t quite as good as his piano playing.

“Let me play?” I ask, but Chubbykins shakes his head as though I asked to share his dinner.

I reach into my pocket and fish out wad of euros. I snagged them from Alec’s bedroom (no judgment, he wasn’t using them). It must be a lot of money because Chubbykins abandons the current song, grabs the cash and waddles toward the bar.

The mundanes begin impersonating ghosts and make a ‘booooing’ sound at me. I even get cursed-out in an impressive variety of languages.

“Take it easy, everyone!” I address the crowd. “I’m a pianist too!”

“And a hot one!” Some random lady calls out and a few others whistle in agreement.

“Yes, and a hot one.” I wink at her then claim the piano’s bench as my thrown.

“ **PLAY! PLAY! PLAY**!” From ghost ‘boooing’ to frenetic chanting, I’ll never understand mundanes.

“Jace! What are you doing?” Alec’s cool lips are on my ear and they feel _so-fucking-good_ in this french-fryer of a room. I wish he’d press them to the back of my neck, my temple . . .

**“PLAY! PLAY! PLAY!”**

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m gonna play the piano.”

“Don’t!” Alec’s tone is as icy as his lips. “If you start playing Bach better than Bach the mundanes are gonna pull out their phones and video you. We can’t risk turning up on social media. Deo could see it and—”

**“PLAY! PLAY! PLAY!”**

“I’m just gonna play some basic mundane songs—”

“You don’t know any basic mundane songs!”

“That’s hurtful. I’m a connoisseur of music, Alec. I actually know quite a few.”

“Hey, asshat!” Some drunk guy throws an empty paper cup at Alec (which he catches and crushes). “Stop pestering the talent! We want music!” 

“Yeah, Alec, stop pestering the talent.” I mock and my fingers do what they do best. _Well, but there’s the seraph blade_. Okay, second best . . . _well, most women have complimented my ability too . . ._ okay, third best. _Well . . ._ okay, piano playing is in the ‘Top 5 Jace Handsy Talents’, at least. 

I flash Alec my tongue and he skulks around the piano. For a moment I think he’s gonna keep walking and leave me, but he doesn’t. My parabatai stands opposite me and lays his hands on the piano top. He could collapse this instrument if he just pushed down, but (lucky for the piano) Alec opts to stare me down instead.

The mundanes recognize the tune I’m playing and cheer, hum and applaud their approval. I don’t know why I’ve chosen this song . . . maybe the sea breeze blew it into my ear along with the sand? But, I’ve heard it many times before and I can play it by memory. Plus it fits with the '80’s theme which these mundanes really seem to love. I can’t remember the first verse so I start with the second, and I think my audience is too inebriated to notice.

“The wild dogs cry out in the night, as they grow restless longing for some solitary cooompany. I know that I must do what's right, as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Seeeerengeti. I seek to cure what's deep inside, frightened of this thing that I've becoooome . . .”

The mundanes are (understandably) so captivated by my vocal and piano-skills that they aren’t singing along. Eyes grow wide and jaws fall open, but I don’t revel in their awe. My own sight only wants to awe over Alec. My handsome vampire is staring at me with anticipation — as though he expects I’m gonna burst into flames at any moment. But — _joke’s on him_ — cuz I’m only gonna burst into more song!

“Hey, Alec. . .” I call and hasten my playing for the up tempo chorus. “ . . . it’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from yoooou! There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever doooo! I bless the rains down in Africaaaaa. Gonna take some time to do the things we never haaaad, ooh, ooh . . .” I grin at Alec and his lips twitch, almost like he _maybe_ wants to smile— _no, nope_. He’s impersonating Oscar the Grouch (really well, actually). My parabatai is not happy at all. Alec maneuvers around the piano and grabs my left writ, halting my performance. Now the mundanes are mimicking ghosts for him.

“Stop it. You’re too good.” Alec’s attention flicks upward to where some pre-teen is pointing her phone at us. He drags me away from the piano like it’s quicksand and then marches us toward the girl. He’s scowling at her like the phone somehow stole my soul. “Did you record him?” Alec points at me.

The girl gawks up at Alec, her complexion bleaching like he’s feasted on her. “N-no, Sir. I was going to, but-but I didn’t.”

“Give me your phone.” My bossy-batai demands. The girl obeys and Alec scrolls through her phone. After a moment he nods and hands it back to her. “Good. Don’t video us.” With that Alec hauls me back to the stairs and above deck. The ‘booing’ is replaced by piano music once more. Chubbykins is back at it with another 80’s hit.

My right foot feels like fish food, but I don’t let on. Alec releases me, tossing my wrist like stone, and plops down on the nearest bench to sulk. “You’re an idiot.” He informs me. “That was foolish. And risky. All of it. You’ve done too many stairs with that foot and it’s swollen again. Take off your sneaker, sit down and stay off your foot until we dock.”

I take a seat beside Alec, purposely bumping my right knee into his left one. “I meant what I sang for you.”

Alec stiffens like the bench beneath us. His gaze drifts out to sea like he wants to get lost there. “. . . I know.”

“When we get to Deo’s house you’re gonna be honest with me about Magnus. Then we’re gonna put together a battle plan. And I’m gonna kill Deo and save you before your work deadline Friday night. But . . .” I nudge him with my knee again. “Until then, we’re just gonna be a pair of gay models.”

“ . . . Fine. As long as you don't play the piano again.”

“Deal and _hey_ , why else were you getting so upset below deck? When we first got down there you made me cramp-up. You didn’t like that song we walked into? I dunno, it’s pretty catchy,” I clear my throat and sing: “‘cause I can’t fight this feelin’ anymooooore! I’ve forgotten what I’ve started fightin’ foooor!”

"No singing either."

"Okay, okay, grandpa grumpy. But if you're muting all of my musical genius, at least answer my question."

Alec examines the floorboards between his sandals. “That song . . . I dunno, this is kind of awkward to admit, but, um . . .”

“You’re so cute when you mumble.”

“Shut up.” Alec peers at me for a nano-second, then fixates on the floorboards again. “Like, okay, many, many, _many_ years ago, before Clary and Magnus, you know, when I was, _um_ , in love with you, well, _back then . . . I guess,_ I heard that song. It was playing in the mall, I was chasing a demon, whatever. Anyway, that song kind of made me think of you. _That’s all_. So when I heard it, it just surprised me. I haven’t heard it since that day in the mall. I wasn’t upset, you just felt my surprise. You know I don’t like surprises, and that’s all. No big deal.”

 _No big deal? Tell that to my cramping insides._ And right now my face is cramping trying to fight my smile.

That romantic song made Alec think of me? _Aww_ , what a big Godzilla-Teddybear. I’m flattered. Honored, really. It’s a song about being madly in love with your . . . friend, and trying to gather the courage to confess.

 _Shit._ And now my face cramps from fighting a frown. I broke Alec’s heart without ever meaning to . . . I hate that I did that to him. And now I hate that he ever heard that sappy song and thought of me, all the while knowing that I was a waste. I never deserved for Alec to love me _like that._ I’m glad he’s not in love with me anymore. I am . . . I am . . . _really, I am_ . . .

Alec is looking to the floorboards for mercy, like he wants them to kill him. _Oh, brother._ I need to put him out of his own awkward-induced misery. I elbow Alec in his hard-as-steel ribs. He doesn’t flinch, but my elbow is smartin’. “I’m flattered that song made you think of me. That’s very sweet, Alec, but, _I’m sorry_ ,” my tone is teasing, “you simply can’t be as sweet as me. You see, I’m the jelly cuz _I’m_ the sweet one.”

“ _Yeah, yeah_. . .” Alec’s side eye could slice through steel. “. . . and I’m the peanut butter because I’m salty.”

I stand, turn around and point to the back of my shirt. In small lettering, right above my ass, it reads _‘perfect together’_.

Alec reads this and — I can tell by his squinty reaction — that he didn’t notice this detail before.

My parabatai’s brow furrows, he’s gearing-up for another grand eye roll — he _really wants_ to be annoyed. _But . . ._

 _. . ._ a smile pirates those lips and the eye roll is tossed to the sharks. Even my multi-talented-sourpuss-parabatai can’t smile _and_ eye roll at the same time.

“Yes,” Alec agrees, patting the empty bench space beside him. “Perfect together.”

I reclaim my seat beside my parabatai, knee-bumping him again because I know he loves it. “This is where we belong. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEEEEEEEE! This chapter is a looooong one! ;;shakes sore typing hands;; I hope you have enjoyed reading it.  
> This chapter was semi-inspired by actual events. I've been on many greek ferries and my most memorable one had an '80's music-a-thon, LOL! I wasn't very familiar with '80's music at that time, but learned to appreciate some of the cheesy-charm later. ;) So I subjected our boys to my experience as well.  
> AS ALWAYS: THANK YOU FOR READING! And please leave me some support and love in the form of a comment. I still have a ways to go with this story, and your words power my pen to write, write, write!  
> Best wishes and stay safe, Maia's Pen
> 
> SONGS in order  
> Rick Astley "Never Gonna Give You Up" (yep, I guess you all got Rick Rolled in 2021) ::slaps own forehead::  
> REO Speedwagon "Can't Fight This Feeling"  
> Toto "Africa"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

(Alec)

_I left Jace alone._

Even though leaving Jace was for his own good, I know he’s gonna give me hell for it later. I mean, my parabatai isn’t ‘alone-alone’ — he’s at the Mykonos pier with about fifty other tourists, so he should be okay. _He will be okay._ He’s a grown-ass Shadowhunter man and, even with a busted foot, he’s more dangerous than those fifty tourists combined. But I’d be a defected parabatai if I didn’t worry.

Our ferry unloaded us a few minutes ago, just after 4:30AM. The sun will be at ‘full mast’ in about an hour, so I had to ditch Jace to complete my ‘parabatai safety checklist’ before daylight. I told his ass to ‘stay put’ while I surveyed Deo’s house _alone_. Before I bring Jace inside I have to ensure that it is indeed vacant, and also not bugged with surveillance equipment.

Of course, enduring any separation from me is not an area where my parabatai excels — _well,_ neither do I— but, when I told Jace that I was _temporarily_ leaving him, he said (and I quote):

_‘I’d rather have paper-cuts on my dickhole than be separated from you again!’_

Jace's words were both overly-dramatic _and_ flattering, but I had to tell him to: _‘get use to it stinging when you piss’,_ because I was going forward without him. As always I’m the rational half of our parabatai. I have to make the ‘big-picture-big-boy’ decisions that Jace will never make. He’s impulsive and I over-think. He sees every new face as a potential ally and I search for ulterior motives. Jace is instantly likable and I’m . . . just not. Izzy says Jace is like a sunflower and I’m a rose, we both look nice but I’m too thorny. The sunflower is gonna get picked every time. That’s okay though. I don’t get butt-hurt when someone says I’m an ass, even Jace, which is what he called me several times as I walked away from him.

 _Oh well._ Better Jace is angry at me and alive than dead.

Somewhere in that way-too-perfect blond head Jace knows I’m right, which is why he’s not pursuing me now. Not that he’d actually be able to follow me anyway though. Deo’s vacation house is located at the tippity-top of a super steep, super rocky cliffside. Locating the house was just like my sire said: _‘when you arrive at port, look north. My house will be the fanciest one on the hillside. It’s on the highest peak, beyond mundane ability to reach, so you won’t be bothered.’_

The entire cliffside is decorated with homes and hotels which pop like white pearls against the gray stones. But Deo’s home is the only black pearl and— despite the color matching its owner’s heart— my sight is drawn to his home like a lighthouse. The structure is _so high up_ that my imagination presses me: did a god place it up here? How did it get built? There is no roadway. It’s travel-by-foot or nothing. And no mortal foot could scale the distance without professional mountain climbing gear. Deo’s place has got to be more than two hundred feet straight up!

I’m ascending vertically— my feet leaping from rock to rock as though they were a stairway of hot coals. When I retrieve Jace for his commute it’s gonna be one bumpy piggyback ride! Even if his foot wasn’t damaged it would take him all morning (and some kinda billygoat rune) to climb this distance. No wonder Deo promised that I’d have total privacy here. Fuck the mountain climbing gear, I think a mundane would have to parachute from an airplane to access his house.

I’m almost half way up already. And I’d probably be further along if the view wasn’t so distracting. Jace and I stepped off of the ferry and into a cliche paradise. This island is almost too beautiful to be real, just like Jace. Behind me is The Aegean Sea, born from The Mediterranean. Right now her waters look like tea, but I imagine that they’ll be aquamarine beneath the sun. Jace will have to let me know. Maybe I’ll ask him to take a picture? The stars are remarkably bright without any city lights to dull them, and they reflect into the sea of tea like someone dripped milk into it. I can’t tell exactly where the sea ends and the sky begins; it all melds together like some kinda black and white modern art that Clary would probably paint.

The cliffside beneath my feet is not grassy. It’s inhabited by rocks that look like oyster shells and flowers redder than Izzy’s date-night lips. My living nose would’ve liked the flower’s aroma, but now I can’t enjoy the scent of anything that’s not blood or Jace.

_I miss Jace._

I want to pause and look back; try to spot my parabatai — to see that he’s still waiting for me where I left him— but I don’t dare take the time to look down. The sun sure isn’t. It’s only going up-up-up and I have to hurry up-up-up or I’ll look like Izzy’s failed attempts at breakfast toast. I miss my sister. I even miss her terrible cooking. I wish I ate more of it when I had the chance. 

From the pier Deo’s home looked like a black pearl, but this pearl is starting to resemble a greek temple. I can count at least five pillars across the front, each at least ten feet apart.

That’s not all I notice: the excited chatter of the ferry-goers has faded. I can’t hear Jace anymore either. His heartbeat has been drowned-out by the waves against the shore. His breathing has been replaced by the whistling breeze. And, while I can’t see or hear my parabatai from this distance, _I can_ still feel him. Focusing on Jace's emotions make my sandals feel like steel-toed boots. I experience his anxiety, concern and longing as though they are my own emotions, _well, they are_. He’s longing for me and I’m longing for him and— just like the sea and sky — it’s impossible to know where his feelings start and mine end.

I want to be closer to Jace and it would be _so easy_ to jump and free-fall back to him . . .but, once again: I’m the rational half of our parabatai. Though sometimes I wish that I could be a little bit irrational — indulge in my ‘Jace impulses’, even if just for a few moments. Like when we were on the ferry . . . I really wanted to then, but, in order to save Jace I had to kill my own fantasy.

I’ve admitted this before: I fantasize about Jace on the daily. Many of my fantasies are raunchy (and would probably even make Jace blush); but some of them are innocent, scenes from a romance verses a porno. And Jace serenading me via piano is one of these harmless daydreams. Last night that daydream became reality. He actually played the piano _for me,_ and he sang too.

Jace sang beautifully. _Of course he did_. My parabatai would scoff if I told him so. He’d probably say _‘nah, c’mon, Alec, my singing is manly and sexy_ ’ and he wouldn’t be wrong. But last night Jace’s voice stroked my heart like he was _playing me,_ and I had to remind myself: _‘nah, c’mon, Alec, this manly and sexy musician is straight.’_

Jace _is_ straight.

Jace _is_ marrying Clary.

And soon.

He doesn’t love me ‘like that’ — he never has. And — though I’m admittedly lusting after Jace’s body and he knows it — I’m not supposed to be yearning for his heart. Not anymore.

My parabatai likes to accuse me of being ‘difficult’, but he never makes anything easy either. Getting over him was no exception back then — _then when he fell in love with Clary_ —- and it still isn’t now —- _now when his wedding is a month away_. Trying to sink my feelings for Jace has always been like trying to sink a battleship by throwing pebbles. Every time I think I can ‘just be his friend’ he smiles at me; he touches me; he looks at me with those fucking-gorgeous eyes; and it’s not my feelings that sink, it’s just my sad, pathetic little pebble of a heart.

Tonight my parabatai chose song lyrics that declared his steadfast devotion to remain by my side. Just as his fingers never wavered on those keys, my favorite eyes remained locked into mine with their steadfast devotion too. I wish that I could’ve ‘pressed pause’ on time. That I could’ve stood there in that ferry parlor and just . . . listened to him . . . watched him . . . _just for a few moments more._ But being the ‘rational one’ also means being use to not getting what I want.

Had Jace continued to perform before the passengers he would’ve been videoed. I just barely intercepted a teenage girl from doing just that. I’m sure Jace would’ve gone viral too. I can envision the click-bait: ‘ _Hot gay model serenades his lover on greek ferry’._ Deo and Magnus would’ve caught that for sure and, hence: in order to save Jace I had to kill my own fantasy.

But, it was fun-ish at least, for a nano-second anyway. For a nano-second the illusion of _us_ felt authentic. And, though I could’ve done without the short-shorts and 'being models' charade, I liked pretending to be Jace’s boyfriend. _No,_ I loved it. But it was a playful sham to pass the time. Jace remains ever-oblivious to how much I want it all to be real. But, again, I’m use to not getting what I want.

_Well, look at that, sulking actually helps to pass the time._

_I’ve made it to the top!_

I pull my phone from my pocket (which is no easy feat in these second-skin shorts) to check the time. From pier to peak it took me about ten minutes, so with Jace on my back it may take fifteen or more. _I have to hurry._ The sky is already changing. A moment ago it was still impossible to tell where sea ended and sky began, but now the horizon separates the two like a ribbon — a ribbon that also matches Izzy’s date-night lips. The red line is thin enough to thread a needle, but bright enough that staring at it makes my eyes burn.

I look away and forward, fixing my attention upon Deo’s house. I have to explore this entire property; descend the cliffside; collect Jace; reascend with him on my back; and all before that red ribbon becomes a celestial bonfire.

Like _Kακία_ the architecture of Deo’s home is impressive. I can tell that the structure is relatively modern, but the exterior has been crafted to resemble an ancient greek castle. Unlike _Kακία,_ which is larger than a football field and made of white stone, this structure’s dimensions are comparable to a basketball court and constructed entirely from black marble. It appears to be a perfect rectangle with five pillars along the front and, I’d estimate, at least eight or nine down each side.

A rod-iron fence frames the property as though it were a graveyard. The front gate is easily twice my hight and the bars are probably thicker than my leg bones. The gateway is ornate — the iron artistically warped to form the shape of a lyre (a greek harp of sorts). The gate itself isn’t locked, so I invite myself inside Deo’s courtyard, which also gives off a graveyard vibe. There are dozens of greek statues posed amongst the landscaping. Some statues are in playful positions, others proud, but all are haunting under the moonlight, reminding me of stone angels carved onto tombstones and— _hey now!!!!_

Did . . . I . . . just . . . _think_ the word ‘angel’?!

_Successfully?!_

I speak: “Angel.”

Well, I’ll be dammed— _oh, wait, I am._

_When the hell did that change? I thought I had to be a ‘master vampire’ and practice for decades before I could think or utter holy words again?_

_No time to dissect this now, Alec, focus! When the sun burns your lips off saying ‘angel’ isn’t gonna do you any good._

One statue catches my eye: it’s a maiden gazing into a pool like she’s dying for a swim. _Oh, that’s right_. Deo did say that he had a pool. It’s inground and also rectangular — maybe thirty by fifteen feet — and it’s certainly the most inviting feature of this yard. The pool is facing the sea and the lame-romantic-fantasizer in me wishes I could lay on a floaty with Jace and watch the sunrise.

Statues and my fantasies aren’t the only things surrounding the pool, there are several potted rose bushes and suntanning beds. Obviously these beds are used to bask in moonlight unless Deo is friends with Daylighters like Simon, which . . . is unlikely. I mean, Simon is a rare freak (in many ways). Deo is chummy with many warlocks and seelies, so their attendance is more feasible, not Daylighters . . .

. . . _and yet_ , the mere thought unnerves me like one of these statues is peeling my nerves from my skin. So far Jace’s best defense is his ability to flea into the light without being pursued by Deo’s army of puppets.

_Don’t worry about something that might not even be possible, Alec. Stop worrying and start working._

I close my eyes and listen. If there are security cameras or audio wires I should be able to hear them. They usually hum like insect wings (if they were coated in steel). I don’t hear anything but the tide, breeze and actual insect wings, so I move on. I run a quick lap around the house. Nothing is suspicious. I mean, Deo’s rear garden is weird — like ‘actual graveyard weird’ with tombstone-looking sculptures— but they don’t give off any red flags; and I don’t have time to examine the exterior anymore.

I approach the front door and it’s beyond bougie. It’s either painted gold or it actually _is gold_ and —considering how heavy this fucker is — I daresay it’s the latter. The door is a few feet larger than the average door, but I’m tall enough to reach up and slide my fingers over the frame. I don’t feel anything. I don’t hear anything. The doorway isn’t bugged and, like the front gate, it’s unlocked.

Stepping inside Deo’s vacation house is like stepping inside King Midas' castle. Every- _fuckin’_ -thing is gold. Perhaps because Deo can’t actually bask _in the sunlight_ he wants to be surrounded by its color instead? The walls and floors are made from the kind of gold bricks you’d imagine in a bank vault; and the curtains and rugs must’ve been woven by Rumpelstiltskin. Even the furniture looks like it's been glossed in honey. To top it off: the entire place is an art gallery dedicated to the god of light and healing, Apollo (or ‘Apollon’ as the greeks say his name). Paintings of Apollo cover each wall and statues glitter in every corner and on every table top. I thought Deo was a loyal Zeus fanboy, but I guess his olympic loyalties are as divided as his personal ones.

 _Fuckin’-a_ , _I need sunglasses._

_No, you need to MOVE._

The most precious golden man in the universe is waiting for me at the pier. And I can feel Jace’s impatience rising faster than that sunshine. So I move. I move through the house like there's a stick of dynamite up my ass and the fuse is lit! I don’t have time to admire the art or test out any of the nine sofas and five mattresses. I visit each room — confirm that it’s empty, listen for electronics, check for obvious security mounts — and go! There are five bedrooms, six bathrooms, two living rooms, a gym, an office, a library, a game room, a grand dining-room and a huge kitchen. The kitchen has a restaurant-sized fridge and freezer, both stocked with enough blood bags to feed all of _Kακία’s_ guests for a night.

Looking at the blood makes me _very thirsty,_ but I have to take care of Jace before I can take care of myself. The need to protect him smashes even my biological need to hydrate. And — as I continue searching the kitchen for surveillance— I find enough bottled water to ensure that Jace won’t dehydrate while he’s here. Because Deo hosts non-vampire guests, he has stockpiled more than the water. My sire has cupboards full of mundane snacks and a bar loaded with high-end booze. I’ll just have to keep an inventory of what Jace consumes. He’ll have to go shopping and replace everything before we leave the island. I can’t leave any ‘Jace clues’ for Deo to find, which also means he’s gonna be limited to one bed, one sofa, one chair; and I’ll have to bleach the shit outta everything he touches.

 _Okay,_ I’ve inspected every room. I can’t detect any surveillance. My instincts _beg me_ to do a second search — _I should always double-check my work_ — but I just don’t have the time. I glance out the window . . . that red ribbon is becoming a gradient of red-orange-yellow.

I hustle through the courtyard, and I’m about to begin my descend, when my phone vibrates in the pocket of my short-shorts.

I know it’s Deo.

“Hello— _er_ , chaírete.” I make an effort to greet my sire in greek and try to sound chipper while I do it.

“Kaliméra, Alexander!” Deo sounds like Chipper’s hyper little brother on crack. “You have cell reception so you’ve arrived on Mykonos! I trust your ferry was delightful! It must have been wild to be around mortals again. Ekpliktikós! Did you find my house?”

“Yes, _er,_ thank you, _um,_ efcharistó polý.” My chipper is not coming out naturally, my words sound like they’ve gone through an actual wood chipper. "Your home is really nice and, _um_ , shiny. I appreciate you giving me these days off to unwind.”

“Parakaló. I love shiny! I have the most extensive collection of original Apollon art on the planet, please do admire, but don’t touch, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Deo prattles onward: “There’s enough blood in the kitchen to feed twenty vamps for a month, so binge away! And wank away! I keep lube in every room. Also, be sure to study your greek. There’s a language text in my study. If you get bored: Delos Isle is just a short ferry ride away. It’s very historical! And, _oh,_ do check out my garden on the westside. You can enjoy a romantic collection of stone tablets. They were gifted to me and, _even after all these years,_ I just couldn’t tear them down. I guess I’m sentimental, but _he’s_ far worse.” Deo laughs like he’s teasing me, but I don’t get the joke. So he wants me to look at his weird tombstone sculpture things, _sure, fine, whatever._

“Yeah, okay, I will.” I assure my sire, hoping he’ll just hurry up and hang up.

“Don’t forget that you must be at work, _on time_ , Friday. Me katalavaíneis?”

“Yes, efcharistó. I understand.” I say that part strongly, because I do understand. I don’t want another spanking if, heaven forbid, I’m late. _Oh, wow,_ I thought the word ‘heaven’! I’m on a roll! 

“I can’t waaaaait to see you Fridaaaayyyy!” Deo sings the words, but he doesn’t sound as good as Jace. “I miss your handsomeness already! Enjoy yourself, but be a good boy, Alexander, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay, I will.”

“Oh, and, Alexander?”

“Yeah?”

“How’s your ass?”

What I want to say is ‘I’m going to kill you one day’, but what I do say is: “ . . . fine.”

“Polý kalá, good. I’ve been thinking about _it_ and you. You’re a tough kid. A very beautiful one at that. Magnus is blessed to have found you first.” Deo makes a wistful-sounding sigh. “Well then, I’m off to go get off. There are curvy seelie twins giving me the sex eyes. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Antio sas, Alexander.”

“Antio sas.” I return Deo’s farewell, relief washing over me like wave from the sea of tea. He actually bought my ‘chipper act’! It took all my self-resolve not to shout 'Magnus might be blessed to have found me, but I'm fucking cursed that he did!' 

Thankfully Deo called while Jace was too far away for his heartbeat to be distinguished. I’m gonna have bolt away from Jace every time Deo calls. Either that or Jace has to activate his _soundless rune_ before I answer. We can’t get sloppy. Deo’s freakishly-good hearing can probably pick up the pulse of a mouse in a submarine. I can’t give my sire any reason to doubt me, well, at least until Jace and I figure out how to kill him. Deo can doubt me all he wants while he’s exploding into ash. But for now he can’t suspect that I’m anything _but_ alone on this island.

Cramming my phone into my asshole would be easier than cramming it into this tight pocket (but I do it), and begin sprinting down the cliffside. To the mundane eye it must look like a ghost is up here leaf-blowing — my sandals are spraying dirt, flower petals and stone in my wake.

My heart is right where I left him: seated on a bench by the sea. Jace's flaxen head catches my sight like a lantern; his heartbeat and breathing are an orchestra to welcome me back. And his _yearning_ for me is as tangible as the earth beneath my feet. Jace’s sight is fixed on the cliffside and searching for me. He’s watching the debris falling behind me — he knows I’m coming — but hasn’t quite pinpointed me yet. I’m closing in like an avalanche, probably less than one hundred strides to go. My parabatai is still glamoured so I can’t see his runes or seraph blade, but I know that the weapon has been strapped to his back this entire time.

Jace sees me now. Eyes mismatched in color are unified with joy. His smile lights the beach like the sun has already risen. I bet his lips taste like whatever sunlight tastes like. I smile too, though mine is bittersweet. The real sun will burn my body to ash, and yet Jace’s mouth is far more dangerous.

My parabatai’s heartbeat continues to rise along with the daylight . . . but his heart is beating _too fast,_ and the sound eclipses the happiness I’m foolish enough to feel. _I’m concerned._ Why is Jace’s heart beating like he swam here from Athens? Since reuniting with me his physiological behavior has become increasingly abnormal. Jace's heartbeat and body temperature are elevating when in close proximity to me. His pupils are dilating, and he’s perspiring — sweating far more than the greek air should naturally cause.

Am I making him nervous?

I’d sooner beg the sun to fry me than to ever upset Jace. And, thinking about it now, I know it’s my fault. I did _something stupid_ on the ferry which has only made everything worse. Jace was badgering me — egging me on about how Deo banned me from biting humans. I reminded him that he _wasn’t_ human, that biting him is fair-game. And then I . . . _snapped at his mouth._ I played like I wanted to bite him — I mean, _I did want to bite him—_ and I don’t even know why I did that! Was I _trying_ to freak him out? Trying to flirt with him? Tease him? Just piss him off?! I don’t know!

 _Ugh_. _I’m the worst._

All I did was weird him out.

I shouldn’t have done that!

It _was_ weird.

_I’m weird!_

Jace reacted like I _had_ bit him. He backed away from me. He made a face I’ve never seen him make — like I’d suddenly sprouted a second head! And his face reddened, his pupils blew so wide. . . _ugh!_ He must have been freaked, but in that moment I couldn’t decode him. Jace became ‘emotional rocket science’ and my own wack-a-doo emotions dumbed me down. Of course Jace would never admit that I upset him; he would never want me to feel bad. And he may not even be totally aware of _how much_ I unnerved him. His reaction was a physiological reflex. When alive I experienced the same responses when in close proximity to demon: elevated temperature, heart and breathing. It’s Shadowhunter DNA— the instinct to be on guard.

“Alec!” Jace’s voice yanks me outta my emotional torture chamber. He stands and waves his arms like he’s signaling a helicopter to land.

I’m less than forty feet away . . . thirty . . .

Jace takes a few gimpy steps toward me.

“Stay still.” I order and Jace makes an annoyed face, but obeys.

. . . twenty feet . . .

I slow down and walk the rest of the way. Even though I have the ‘darkness advantage’ the mundanes can’t see me appear outta thin air.

I approach Jace, halting just outta arms’ length, and inform him: “I’m gonna carry you up.”

My parabatai grins like he’s gonna ride a fuckin’ dragon to Mars. I want to grin too — I want to carry him more than I want to breathe air again— but set my jaw to ‘frown mode’. I know that — as soon as I touch Jace— I’m gonna want to bite him and fuck him and it isn’t gonna be a pleasant commute up that hillside with his legs spread around my back and an erection between my thighs.

“Coast is clear then?” Jace asks and reaches his arms toward me, wiggling his fingers like a toddler after a new toy. I would find this gesture _unbearably annoying_ from anyone but him.

“Yes.”I answer, eyeing his hands like they’re sticky with glue. “The house isn’t bugged. Deo must actually want privacy when he’s here. The place is also stocked with blood for me and mundane water and snacks for you. It’s mostly junk-food, though, like candy and chips. I have to sleep today, but we can go out tonight and shop for proper food, okay?”

“That’s nice.” Jace says as though he doesn’t care whether he ever drinks or eats again, and then his fingers stop wiggling and start opening and closing like angry crab pincers. “Alec! Are you gonna hug me or keep makin’ me stand here reachin’ for you like a loser? People are lookin’ you know. I missed you so much that every inch of my hair hurts!”

I raise an eyebrow at Jace’s words and crab-pincer-fingers, trying my damnedest to look annoyed. I can’t encourage him to embrace me _here._ It’s so hard for me (in every sense of the word) to hug him and I don’t wanna get an erection in public ever — and especially in _these_ shorts, it’ll be like trying to hide an elephant trunk under a washcloth!

“We can hug later.” I gesture toward the expanding horizon.

“ _Fiiiiine_ . . .” Jace groans like it’s not fine at all. “Then I’m gonna hug you all night in bed.”

_Oh my fucking god, of course he wants to hug in bed. He’ll probably get wood dreaming about Clary again too. Great. Maybe I should just let the sun roast me . . ._

“Um, yeah, Deo has several bedrooms, and all of them have big beds. So we can spread out a bit too for personal space.” I pause and Jace squints at me like he has no interest in ‘personal space’. “Anyway, you can pick out a bed for us, but only one. We have to contain your scent, so you can’t go around exploring and touching everything.”

Jace makes a rudeish-grunt, but nods and — _damn,_ _aren’t his arms tired yet?_ — he’s still reaching for me; and he looks absurdly cute in that jelly shirt and stupidly snug shorts.

My body chooses the more dangerous sunlight. The five feet between us becomes five inches. But, before Jace’s pincers can have at my front, I turn and hunch down to present him with my back.

Jace lets out a ‘chipper sound’ to rival Deo; then he hops onto my back like he’s a damn monkey and I’m a giant banana! Jace has straddled me horizontally many times (while wrestling, of course), but this vertical-backwards-straddle is new. His arms wrap my neck and he parts his legs around my back, kicking my thighs like he’s a jockey.

“Stand up!” Jace orders with gusto and I stand, quickly sorting-out the mechanics of piggybacking as I realize. . . _I’m a piggyback virgin_! This is my first time giving one.

I grab each of Jace’s thighs to support him. His shorts are so short that I’m gripping his bare-hairy-muscly skin, and I’m _so-fucking-thankful_ he’s not straddling my front! The groin-of-my-dreams is pressed into my spine! _If_ he was hard he’d cripple me. Of course, Jace is not turned on. But I am. Fortunately his current vantage point keeps him innocent to my sinful body.

There’s a warm pressure on the back of my head and it’s followed by a ‘ _MWAH’-_ sound — which makes my first step forward a very-non-graceful-vampire stumble.

What the— _did he just . . .?!_

“Thanks, Alec, you’re the best.” Jace’s words gush along with my brain this . . . this is the first time he’s _ever_ kissed me! I’m both devastated and thankful that I couldn’t see it. The spot where Jace’s lips touched-down heats me like he’s used tabasco sauce as a lip-balm. And this spicy lip balm has penetrated my scalp, my nerves and made my dick hotter and harder than Satan’s pitchfork. And just like a pitchfork my dick is about to stab its way outta these shorts! _Ahhhh,_ they are way too tight!

Jace plays jockey again and kicks at my leg. “Forward ho, my trusty steed!”

I grit my teeth like a horse would a bit and focus forward. The sky is still dark, but the stars have faded . . . the moon is minutes from being overthrown. I re-grip Jace’s thighs until I get the best hold, I need to move and he’s gotta hang on!

“Hold me tight, Jace, and breath slowly. The wind may feel suffocating until we reach the top.” I warn. “This ride is gonna be fast and intense.”

Jace laughs in my ear and it’s hot. “That’s how I like it.”

I don’t acknowledge Jace’s. . . _what?_ Sex joke? I don’t even want to think about how he likes sex! _Well, I do,_ but not now! Assuming that was even what he was insinuating?! Or maybe my mind is just so far in the ‘Jace gutter’ that he could say ‘I like walking in the rain’, and I’d interpret ‘please fuck me in the rain’.

“Hey, Alec, _ah_ . . . that sun is really rising so—”

Jace doesn’t get to finish. Instead he gets a mouthful-o-briny wind!

I’m moving. Jogging at first so the mundanes can't see us vanish, but as soon as I'm outta mortal eye-range I'm running. 

_Fast_.

Faster than fast.

I literally have to outrun the speed of light!

Even with Jace’s added weight I’m launching up the hillside like it’s an escalator on steroids!

Jace clenches his thighs around my torso and his hands grip my shirt. His pincer-fingers are probably poking my peanut butter cartoon guy. I know the wind is stinging the shit outta his skin and eyes but he doesn’t complain. _Wait . . ._ that’s _my skin_ and _my eyes_ that are stinging — _shit!_

My pain is not from the wind.

I dare a glance back. . . _the horizon!_ That red-orange-yellow ribbon has become a thick band that would match the decor in Deo’s house! I don’t see the moon! Not good. Not even slightly good. Jace didn’t come all this way just to experience my second death!

_MOVE, ALEC!_

Jace starts fidgeting like there are ants up his butt. His movements are fucking with my balance and libido!

"Stop it!" I growl. "Do you want to kill us both?!"

Jace doesn't say anything, but he does still himself. And then he exhales on my neck. Fuck, I want to throw him down and bite his neck! If ants up his butt make him fidget then my cock is gonna make him writhe. 

_Ughhh,_ my erection can’t fit in these godforsaken shorts much longer! My cock is either gonna break free or just break in half!

_RUNNNNNN!!!!!_

We’re nearly there!

Deo’s rooftop is playing peek-a-boo over the rocks.

What looks like a toy temple doubles in size . . .

. . . just like my dick . . .

. . . triples in size . . .

. . . and now Deo’s black marble masterpiece is full-size — just like my dick! I feel the short's fabric starting to tear . . . ughhh . . . the seam on my inner thigh is ripping!

I’m seconds away from the gate into the courtyard! I’m about to expose myself to all of these statues! I don’t slow down to open the gate, I jump over it! Clearing more than twelve feet of rod-iron like a puddle!

But it’s not only my cock that’s in distress, it’s my skin. It isn’t just stinging anymore — it’s burning! It’s like that _one time_ Izzy convinced me to go to a tanning salon with her —and that bed just got hotter and hotter and hotter — and so I punched it and bailed with nine blister souvenirs. But what I’m punching now is Deo’s gaudy front door. It swings wide from the impact, I leap forward . . . and . . .

We’re inside!

We made it!

I pull the door shut behind us so that no natural light can trespass.

The hallway lightbulb spotlights me as though congratulating the survival of my skin and shorts.

Jace is panting in my ear like he’s the one who’s just sprinted up the cliffside! My rational brain understands that the wind was suffocating him, but the sound is sexy— his breath is like steam on my ear— and he needs to stop.

“Get down.” I demand with grit and Jace pant-laughs, entertained by my irritation.

“ _If_ I let you go, and it’s a _‘big if’_ ,” my parabatai’s goads, “are you gonna leave me again?”

“No. Well,” I hesitate, that’s half true. I turn my face to try and look at Jace, but it's difficult while I’m wearing him like a backpack. “I’m not gonna leave-leave you, but I need to blood binge and, _um_ , ‘attend’ to myself privately before I can spend time with you. But I only need an hour.”

“A full hour again?” Jace puts no concealer on his disappointment. “I just don’t understand how you can jerk-off that long without your cock falling off.”

“I’m not doing _that_ the entire time, I-I, _ah_ , just need at least an hour for the lust to fully clear. I don’t have to explain it to you. It’s private. Can we _not_ have a conversation while you’re riding me, please? I don’t want to drop you, but I will.”

“You won’t.” Jace says confidently, and then nuzzles his face against the back of my head, _what the fuck?_ My cock thinks he’s nuzzling his face over my balls . . . _ahhhh!_ That inner thigh seam is ripping again . . . _shit_. These shorts are done for! I don’t have on any underwear, not that any would fit! If Jace won’t get off me I really will have to drop him. I hope he doesn’t land on his bad foot.

“Alec, can I be in the room with you while you jerk-off?”

I nearly drop him!

“ _What?!_ In the room with me?! That's the stupidest thing you have _ever_ said.”

“Why is that stupid—”

“It’s stupid! It's suicidal!” I’m yelling now and squeezing his thighs like I wanna squeeze his throat! What an idiot! “Think, Jace, would you want me watching _you_ jerk-off?! _No_ , of course not. It’s a private matter! What’s wrong with you? That's crossing a line, even between parabatai. Besides, you _can’t_ be near me after I feed. Not at all. I can’t control myself in the bloodlust state. _I’ve told you this_. I’ll want to bite you and fuck you. I could kill you!”

“But you won’t.”

“I will, dammit!”

 _That’s it!_ I channel my inner rodeo bull and try to shake Jace off my body! But he’d be a rodeo champion! He tightens his grip and clings to me like greasy saran wrap!

“For fuck’s-sake, get off me!”

“You love it.”

“I do.” I can’t deny it, so I own it, and Jace is satisfied enough that he surrenders and slides from my body.

“Well,” Jace taps me on the shoulder but I don’t turn around, I can feel a draft where there should not be a draft!

“Hey Alec, since you’re gonna be busy jerking-off, I’m gonna go take a shower. I’m so fuckin’ sweaty. My jelly shirt is ruined.”

“Tragic.” My delivery is sarcastic, but I actually mean it. I . . . _like_ our matching shirts, and Jace looks so cute in his. He’d never wear something like this in New York, _hell,_ neither would I . . . well, maybe I would. If he did.

I cover my ‘semi-exposed-cock-bulge’ with an obvious ‘I’m covering my semi-exposed-cock-bulge’ hand and face my parabatai. It takes _everything_ not to swoon like some crushing teenage girl. Jace looks fucking adorable. His head looks like a bird’s nest after a windstorm. There’s sand caked to his eyebrows and cheeks, leaves sticking outta his hair and there’s a feather behind his right ear.

“This place is like King Tut’s tomb!” Jace looks around and whistles with admiration at Deo’s golden decor. “Where’s the bathroom? Is the toilet made of gold too?”

“There are several bathrooms. The closest one is just down that hall. I think it’s the third door or the left.” I gesture in the direction with my non-cock-covering hand.

Jace considers my blatant cock-concealing effort and raises his brow.

“Please don’t stare at my—” I start, but Jace nabs my words.

“I wasn’t.” Jace defends, then counters into a compliment. "I was just thinking that your quads look good in those shorts. Or what’s left of those shorts. My hotness made ya tear through 'em, huh?”

If I could blush the heat would burn down this house. "Shut up."

Jace gives me an approving thumbs-up, but it deflates as his sight lands upon my forearm. His concern jabs me like his thumb went up my nostril.

“Alec . . .” Jace reaches for my arm but I evade him, keeping several feet between us. Jace’s disappoint jabs me next, but it’s like a hot poker up my nose and I wince.

I look at my arm to see what he’s worried about . . .

 _Oh._ A patch of my right forearm kinda resembles seared meat. A sunbeam must’ve caught me right before I dashed inside.The burn is minor though. “It’s fine.” I assure my parabatai. “Blood will fix this.”

Jace looks anything but assured, but he respects my personal space and nods. “I _hate_ that light can hurt you,” Jace sounds like he’s restraining a monster between his lungs. “If we’d been even a few seconds later then you would’ve been—”

“We weren’t.” I say quickly. “And I wasn’t. I’m fine, Jace.”

My parabatai only frowns — frowns like if he tried to speak again than the monster would escape his lungs; claw its way up his throat and grab me.

Jace turns and limps down the hallway. I watch until he vanishes inside the correct bathroom door.

“I’ll see you in an hour.” I call after him.

“Yes,” Jace hollers back, “and then you’re gonna tell me the truth about Deo and Magnus.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

(Jace)

Since Deo is using my parabatai’s body I’m using all of his stuff. It’s not the same— _not even close_ — but using a fresh blade to shave every inch of my face (and manscape my junk) felt _quite satisfying._ Deo is now down twelve razor bladesand two bottles of shaving cream.

I raided Deo’s way-too-golden cabinets and found the shaving materials, some toothbrushes, toothpaste, hair brushes, lotion, deodorant, shampoo, bodywash, sex lube and even a silky-slinky black bathrobe. Most of these items are probably reserved for guests that Deo entertains, but I’m not planning to leave any leftover. Though I’m not having any sex while I’m here, I’ll use the lube to jerk myself off _or_ I might just empty the bottle all over Deo’s fanciest sofa. Then again, I could jerk myself off _and_ jizz all over his fanciest sofa too. I love options! I’ll just wait and see how the ass-hole spirit moves me.

An entire bottle of bodywash made the shower foam-up like a cappuccino, and I squeezed _so much_ toothpaste into my mouth I was frothing like one too. Alec is gonna smell me comin’ from a mile away! I’m a parabatai potpourri of cleanliness! Maybe all of these combined aromas will finally muffle the scent of me? The scent which torments Alec so much.

 _Shit though_. Or bond is glitching badly, it’s like some lust demon has hacked us. Alec’s scent is tormenting me too . . . his vampire pheromones (or whatever-the-fuck he’s giving off) are making me crazy-horny. I had to imagine my late grandma in a bikini in order to squash my semi as I rode on Alec’s back. If he’d felt my hard dick pressing into his spine . . . _oh, by the angel_ , that would’ve launched us onto ‘planet complicated’. I really don’t wanna tell Alec what I’m experiencing, but I might have too . . . if I keep having these spontaneous erections (like he does) it’s gonna be impossible to hide them. But making Alec aware of them might be _worse_ for him. 

Since using up Deo’s toiletries I decided to do a security sweep of the property. So that’s what I’m doing now: casing the parameter of the house. I know Alec already did this — and he’s very thorough— but, I’ll sleep better today knowing that I checked too. My parabatai searched in darkness and I’m searching under light. We might see different things.

The early morning sunlight feels nice on my skin. It’s several degrees cooler on Mykonos than it was in Athens, and I . . . _like it here._ I like the warmth and I’m an ass for enjoying any of it. Not thirty minutes ago this same warm light burned Alec, and could’ve kill-killed him had he been a few seconds later getting inside. Alec’s vampire body is as vulnerable as it is impenetrable. He can get spanked into hamburger meat and carry on like nothin’, but a ray of light will end him.

I have to heal my damn foot so I can pulverize Deo into hamburger meat. _Which,_ I’m failing at right now as rocks and roots jab my bare toes. My foot is too swollen to jam back into the sneaker, but I should have put some slippers or socks on. At the very least I could’ve ruined more of Deo’s stuff then.

Before showering I removed my glamour so, if Deo _does_ have any cameras picking up my image, it’s gonna be epic. He’ll see a buff, runed-up, barefoot blond guy in a sexy black robe who's limping through his bushes with a seraph blade on his back and stele in his hand. Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

 _Thinking of my stele . . ._

I activate my _soundless_ and _stealth_ runes. If there _is_ anything to be detected I don’t want _it_ to detect me first.

This house is like a small greek castle — it’s two stories high and solid marble. There are golden blackout curtains covering all of the windows on the eastside, but they’ve not been pulled on the westside (as that is currently facing away from the sun and naturally shaded).

Deo has surrounded his home in naked statues. There has to be dozens of them scattered about the property. Well, old people do like to hoard shit, so I guess statues are his vice. And one of these vices is eyeing me from a bush like it wants to grab my junk. I kick him over and his dick cracks. _I’m gonna crack Deo’s dick too. . . just wait, you bastard, just wait. I’ll get you for killing Alec, brainwashing Clary and Izzy, for blackmailing Magnus . . ._ at least, that’s what I suspect. I can’t wait much longer for Alec to _finally_ clarify this nightmare so I can get him out of it! 

I make my way around the westside of the castle-house. The landscaping here is different. Instead of humanoid statues Deo has decorated with tombstone-looking things. But, upon closer inspection, I realize that there is nothing ‘tomby’ about these stones. They are carved from rocks that glitter like gold and silver disco-balls in the sun. I’m not a geologist, but these don’t look natural. The stones are about hip-height and aren’t assembled in any particular pattern, just jutting out here and there like cactus plants in the desert. I consider the nearest one: it’s been engraved. There are words etched around a creepy feline-looking eye. The words are in greek, but I’m curious enough that I light-up my _speak in tongues_ rune so that I can translate the text _._ It reads:

_‘One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. That word is love. — Sophocles.’_

_Huh,_ I didn’t expect this to be a ‘love quote — love stone’ thing. Pretty random. I appreciate the sentiment; though I’d like to re-write it: _‘One word frees me of all the weight and pain of life. That word is Alec. — Jace Herondale.’_

Self-entertained (and intrigued), I glance at another stone. This one also has an identical cat-like eye carved into its surface, along with words:

_‘Those who are hardest to love, need it the most. —Socrates’_

I laugh out loud. Did Socrates meet Alec when he was in a bad mood?

 _Okay, just one more . . ._ another cat-eye carving (the greeks are obsessed with cats!) accompanies the quote:

_‘The madness of love is the greatest of heaven’s blessings. — Plato.’_

_Well, ain’t that the truth._ Alec certainly makes me mad indeed, in every sense of the word! But every moment entangled within our madness _is_ a blessing and — _wait._

Shouldn’t these romantic quotes make me think of . . . _Clary?_ And why does Deo—the heinous murdering dick— have this entire romantic (albeit catish-creepy) garden?

Both questions leave me feeling . . . _disturbed_. Disturbed like Alec felt after I _stupidly asked_ him if I could be in the same room with him while he masturbated.

 _Ugh._ I slap my own forehead like a fly has touched-down.

I fucked up. I didn’t mean it like I was gonna sit and watch him . . . just like, sit in the corner or something so we weren’t separated again and— _yeah,_ thinking this over . . . I can't defend it. No wonder Alec looked horrified. He’s been looking at me like that a lot though. Earlier, on the pier, I told Alec that I missed him so much that every inch of my hair hurt. I thought I was being sweet, but he looked at me like my hair had transformed into snakes Medusa-style.

I distract myself by peeking into Deo’s windows, continuing to look for anything suspicious. As I circle the house I see: a gold-themed bathroom; a room with a pool table ( _could be_ _fun, Alec likes playing pool)_ ; another golden-themed bathroom; an office with shelves full of books and a desk. There’s a big black and orange vase on the desk and — _oh, that figures—_ the vase has Deo’s likeness painted on it. I recognize his evil face even in that ancient greek art style! ‘Drawing Deo’ is totally nude, and there’s _no way_ his penis is anatomically accurate. It looks like a third leg! _Conceited bastard._

Like the sparkly ‘love stones’, I notice that letters are etched around Deo’s vase-face. I can't see them well through the windowpane, so I ‘rune-enhance' my vision and the words appear as though I were looking through binoculars:

_‘When nourished by pure love a stone can become the drum of life. — Apollon’_

I never realized how romantic the ancient greeks were. I guess this can be interpreted as: when people are ‘in love’ they just hear and make music all the time like in a Disney movie; serenading their lover like I did for . . .

. . . I mean . . .

I _have_ played the piano for Clary lots of times too.

I’ve just never had the opportunity to publicly perform for her, but . . . I mean, I would. Obviously.

 _Whatever._ I’ll smash that vase later.

I move on to the next room, yet another bedroom with— **_WHOAAAAA!!!!!!!!_**

I duck like someone swung an axe at my head!

I’m on my hands and knees in the dirt and I think I left my heartbeat on the windowsill above!

_Shit-shit-shit!_

_Fuck-fuck-fuck!_

Thank the angel that I activated my runes or Alec would’ve heard me gasp! Heard my frantic pulse! Heard my ‘sanity dam’ burst and flood every molecule of my body with adrenaline and testosterone!

_Did I just see what I think I saw?!_

I raise my hands one at at time— gripping the windowsill like the rim of a volcano— and _sloooooowly_ pull myself up, a centimeter at a time, like some kinda sly-as-fuck ‘Peeping Tom’ because, _well,_ I AM one.

I rest my chin on the ledge and peer into the bedroom . . .

 _Yep_ , I saw what I thought I saw; and I feel like I’ve just submerged into the volcano. But instead of lava it’s boiling my body with every androgenic hormone in existence and . . . _I don’t hate it._

Alec is naked. 

My parabatai is sitting on the edge of a bed, a pile of emptied blood bags by his hip. He’s not facing me. I see the back of Alec’s dark head; he’s tilting his head backward _just slightly_ — like a ghost is tugging on his hair. Alec is all muscle — broad shoulders and a strong back — and these muscles are taut because he’s working them all.

My sight follows Alec’s spine downward . . . it leads me to his backside and — _damn_ , his ass is fit. Those cheeks look like they were hand-molded by some kinda ass god! Alec is resting his unrivaled ass on an all-black comforter; and that comforter is about to get stained. Alec’s shoulder blades flex against his self-inflected efforts. His left hand grips the comforter like his afterlife depends on it, and — though I can’t _see it —_ his right hand is obviously jacking his cock with the same conviction. Alec is stroking himself with intent — he’s not edging, pulling on himself slowly to prolong the pleasure — _no_ , he’s handling himself like he’s on a mission! Like he has to drain his balls to put out a damn fire!

Either the island his quaking or my knees are. I can’t do anything but kneel here and tremble like I’m dying. My own arousal has handicapped me! My abdominal muscles tense and burn like I’ve been kicked in the balls — _but in a good way_. Which is so ass-hat backwards I can’t explain it to myself. Alec is visual viagra — and while my jaw goes limp and south, my cock goes stiff and north! I’m so unbearably hard — thank the angel I swapped those tight shorts for this airy robe! Those shorts could barely house my semi— and _this_ is no semi now! _This_ is a ‘full-production Herondale hard-on'!

My parabatai is lean, athletic perfection. My sight revels in his image like I’m about to go blind; and I wonder . . . if Alec looks _this good_ from the back, then what does his naked body look like from the front? And then I wonder — _no, I shouldn’t, fuck, too late_ —what his naked body would feel like under mine?

_No. No. No._

_I_ can’t actually _be_ turned-on from watching Alec. This has to be his own arousal influencing me through our bond again. I’m not-fucking-gay! I’m not into ‘man body.’

 _Ugh,_ my balls feel like bowling balls _,_ I can’t believe they haven’t dropped and anchored me flat onto the earth. But I’m thankful that they haven’t because . . .I don’t want to stop watching Alec . . . even though he has a ‘man body’.

I wonder what Alec’s face looks like right now? He can’t breathe, so he can't be panting. Is he biting his lip? Shutting his eyes? I wonder how his cock looks in his hand? I wonder how he’s stroking himself exactly— _stop it._

_I can’t._

My right hand is possessed by lust. The randy bastard retreats from the windowsill and splays over my stomach . . .

I slide my fingers into the opening of my robe -- they tremble like there’s a tourniquet around my wrist-- but I can’t stop myself . . .I can’t stop my fingers from inching down, over my abdominals, my bellybutton . . .my cock is reaching up, begging for the relief of my touch! My cock throbs along with my heart, every pulse compelling my fingers toward it like they're under a spell . . . I just need to _do_ to _myself_ what Alec is doing to himself . . .and all while I watch him like some sick, perverted fuck— _what the fuck_!?

_What am I doing?!_

_Am I really going to masturbate to Alec masturbating?!_

_STOP IT!_

I stop.

I pull my hand from my robe.

I stand. And — with great effort between my stiff gimp and stiff groin— I walk away. I make my way to the front courtyard and stare out at The Aegean Sea. My pulsating hormones recede along with the tide.

The scenery welcomes me like a long lost friend — pulling out ‘all the stops’ to present me with a grand visual reception. I’m fully ‘wowed’. How can any of these colors be real? It’s like I’m existing in a watercolor painting. The sun blazes like a pyre while the clouds takes turns relishing its aesthetic heat. But the cloud’s visits are fleeting, embracing the sun for only a moment before continuing on; and, as they do, they alter the appearance of the sea below. When Alec and I arrived here the water was obsidian, but now it’s an ever-evolving hue —showboating it’s ability to change from cobalt to aquamarine and every shade in between. The very surface glitters like billions of sapphires and emeralds are riding the waves.

I pull my phone from my pocket and snap a photo for Alec.

This scene is beyond beautiful. It exceeds spectacular. It’s jaw-droppingly magnificent — to the point that I feel unworthy to even _see it—_ and . . .

. . . it’s absolute shit compared to the scene of Alec on that bed.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

(Jace)

It’s been twenty minutes since I _Peeping Tom’d_ Alec's sexy ass. In total: an hour and five minutes have passed since Alec and I parted ways. I can’t be away from him for another moment.

I also can’t meander around ignorant to whatever the ‘Deo and Magnus situation’ is anymore. _Enough is enough!_ I didn’t suffer Alec’s spanking-from-hell for nothing. He promised me he’d tell me the truth — why Deo _really_ killed him. I need to know if my hunch is correct: that Deo is blackmailing Magnus with Alec’s safety. And if so, Magnus and I should be working together, not acting as equally oblivious characters in ‘The Fake Death of Alec Lightwood’ play.

I’ve tried to be patient. I didn’t interrogate Alec on the ferry and I’ve given him more than the ‘private hour’ he wanted here. I spent the last twenty minutes pacing Deo's ‘love stone’ garden until my dick no longer felt like one. I’m not in ‘Alec-sex mode’ anymore, but I am in ‘general-Alec-needy mode’. I am _so done_ waiting for Alec to _be done_ with his cock. By the way he was goin’ at it, he must be finished by now; but I’m not gonna sneak back to the window to check.

Every single part of me — my hair, my heart, my bones, my toenails, _and yes,_ apparently even my cock — _needs_ to be near Alec. Every single part of me belongs to him — with him — and I’m gonna rip every single part of me off if he denies me _him_ for a moment more.

_I just need to be near him._

And so I stand here now: outside Alec’s ‘masturbation quarters’ debating if I should knock or just kick the fuckin’ door down to the devil.

I navigated Deo’s blinged-out mansion and easily found the room Alec is in. Our bond pulled me toward him much like he was pulling on himself. But ‘pulling time’ is over, it’s ‘pounding time’ now— _ah,_ I don’t mean that as x-rated as it sounds. I just mean that I’m gonna ‘pound’ on the door (or kick it down to the devil, it depends if Alec opens quickly or not).

This golden door goads me — reminding me of _one thing_ : the color my runes _did not turn_ when Alec was dying. I _should have_ glowed golden. Unmatched power _should have_ surged through my veins — _should have_ turned me into ‘Shadowhunter Superman’ and made me strong enough to kill Deo, his minions and save Alec from _ever_ suffering this unbearable fate. Call me paranoid, but I feel like this entire golden house exists just to taunt me: _‘ha-ha, you pathetic fuck! You were too weak to even stand as your parabatai was butchered. You can’t call upon your higher power without Clary nearby to active you. You need her. Your future wife makes you ten times stronger than your parabatai bond ever did. Alec makes you weak — physically, emotionally, fucking sexually!’_

_DAMMIT! Shut up!_

I bang my golden head against the golden door. I half-way-wish my skull would split and spit out my brain. I bet my brain isn’t gold though, it’s probably like tar because all of these shitty thoughts are stuck inside.

I rotate my face and lay my ear against the metallic surface.

What am I expecting to hear? Alec groaning in sexual bliss? Moaning my name as he cums? Would I even _want_ to hear that?! _I don’t know . . .I’m so fucked-up._

But that’s not what I hear. I just hear a shower running. _Good_ , that means he’s done wanking and on to washing.

I pummel the door like a hungry grizzly bear who knows his honey is on the other side. “ALEC! It’s been over an hour! I’m gonna break down the door!”

I _feel_ my parabatai’s irritation — it’s like ants are nibbling honey off my abdomen; it doesn’t hurt, but it’s a nuisance. _Perfect._ That means I’m a nuisance.

I wail on the door three more times.

“ALEC! Last warning. This door is gonna go ‘boom’!”

The shower dwindles and stops, then I hear Alec stomping about like _he’s_ the grizzly bear. “C’mon, Jace! Gimme a damn minute!” He sounds like a grizzly bear too, and . . . I bet he kinda looks likes one with all of his body hair; a sopping wet bear . . .

I can’t block my imagination from conjuring-up Alec’s naked, hard, muscled, wet body stepping outta the shower. I clench my jaw _so hard_ I’m surprised I don’t crack a tooth; but the pain is enough to keep my trouser snake sedated.

“Hurry up already, Prince Procrastinator!” I demand and kick the door with my good foot (bad idea, this fucker is sold gold! _Ouch!_ ). “You need to tell me about Deo and Magnus _right now_. I’m not waiting anymore.”

“Just a second!” Alec’s tone is sharp enough to decapitate my trouser snake, and for that I’m relieved. We need to have a serious conversation and I don’t need a serious erection distracting me.

“Fine,” I huff, “you get dried off and I’ll talk.”

Alec can hear me so I might as well start organizing the facts and clues. “I’ve been thinking everything over . . . Deo killed you and turned you on purpose, and not because he wanted a bouncer. It’s not a coincidence that he sired, and now controls, _your body — you,_ the husband of one of the most powerful warlocks in the world. A warlock that also happens to be one of Deo’s former lovers. You’re a pawn, Alec, but for what, I don’t know. But you know. And Magnus knows. And he also knows you’re here—” I hesitate, every time I say ‘Magnus’ it feels like one of those ants is biting _me_ instead of the honey. “— _and_ that means Magnus is also aware that Deo has brainwashed everyone. Let’s be real, your hubby is too powerful to be brainwashed himself, so Deo must be blackmailing him with your safety, _but over what_? They’ve obviously struck a deal or come to some terms because Deo said, and I roughly quote, that _‘you and Magnus are fortunate that I’m a vampire of my word’_ in reference to him not molesting the shit outta you. So, _what_ then? Has Deo promised to keep you ‘somewhat undefiled’ in exchange for Magnus' cooperation? Deo wants him to do something ‘Noble Magnus’ would never agree to otherwise do? Help me out here, Alec?”

I pause to allow Alec opportunity to explain something — _anything_ — but all I feel are those ants transforming into gnawing cockroaches, so I proceed: “Magnus is legit losing his shit, Alec. When I was bedridden he was hovering over me nonstop, it was beyond annoying! He _really_ wanted me to accept your death AKA Deo's brainwashing, and that's why I started playing along. I needed him, and everyone, to back the fuck off me so I could find you. Maybe Magnus thinks it'll keep me safest to be oblivious? I actually think he could have healed my foot, but he wants me to stay injured so I'm outta trouble and not at risk. But now, at least I understand why he's been acting nuts -- trying to figure out how to save you _and_ keep me _and_ everyone else safe. That's stressful! And 'Classic Bane', he's taken this on all by himself, right? He must feel guilty, I mean, his ex killed you! So why hasn’t he saved you? Magnus can probably end Deo with a few flamboyant flicks of the wrist, but he’s not, and I need to know why. Right now my favorite warlock thinks I’m clueless to ALL of this, that you're even a vampire! He's doing whatever he's doing to save you, and I'm doing what I can. So instead of working separately, why don’t we just join forces? Alec, how about letting your two ‘leading men’ save you together?”

“No.” Alec says curtly, and I hear him stumbling around — he’s probably trying to fit some of Deo’s clothes (which won’t work out, he’s too tall). “That’s not an option.”

“Why not? Is Deo more powerful than Magnus? Because I can't see any other reason why you'd refuse -- _ouch, shit_!” I loose my words to pain. Those angry cockroaches have burrowed through my abdomen and up my back. The fuckers have gathered between my shoulder blades for a wrestling match — _it’s maddening_ — it makes me want to tear my own skin off to dig them out!

I count to five and Alec says nothing, but his anger continues to manifest under my skin. _Why is he so upset?!_

“Alec, I know you can’t physically call Magnus, _but I can,_ so just let me call him. You must miss him like crazy, so let me ask him to just come here and together we can—”

If I weren’t a Shadowhunter the door would’ve smashed me through the wall! I barely leapt backward in time to keep my front teeth!

Alec stands in the doorway, clad in a robe similar to mine, and he’s dripping far more than just water . . . my parabatai is absolutely soaked in fury!

Even Alec’s own anger cockroaches are terrified — they tear outta my skin and high-tail it, leaving a burning knot of muscle in their wake.

“It isn’t an option!” Alec shouts _so loudly_ that Mykonos’ tourists are probably reevaluating their life choices. My parabatai glares at me like I’m the stupidest person he’s ever seen. His handsome face has been ransacked by rage; his eyes are so bloodshot they don’t even look real, it’s like they’ve been replaced with rubies. Alec snarls, his fangs gleam and he starts cursing: “Fuck! FUCK! It’s not a fucking option!” My parabatai grips either side of the doorway, his fingers crushing the frame like he’s gonna yank it down — destroy the entire house and burry us both in the rubble.

“Alec . . . why?” I step toward him like we’re balance on an iceberg, but those bloody orbs flash with warning. I stay back. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset. What’s the harm in calling Magnus?”

“Because! Because—” Alec makes a sound like he’s gasping, which doesn’t make any sense, he can’t breathe. He opens his mouth, but he’s wordless. However, I can _feel_ the words forming inside Alec’s mouth — they are rotten like spoiled meat, sticking between his teeth and he’s struggling to spit them out. Alec _hates_ the way the words taste. He doesn’t want me to have to taste them either; but he _needs them gone._ He needs them out!

“ _Because_ , Jace!” Alec’s agonized voice is a crowbar to my ears— to my knees! My legs can’t balance on the iceberg any longer and I fall, grabbing a nearby door handle to stay upright.

My heart is having a full-blown conniption! It needs a straitjacket or I’m gonna need a defibrillator! My heart is doing what’s Alec’s heart can’t . . . thrashing against my ribs like it _wants_ to break them. _Break something! Anything!_ Make something else hurt the way it hurts. Alec’s heart . . . it’s _fucking injured_ , it’s been beaten and left for dead, and it _did_ die. It died miserably! Without any mercy! How did I not _feel_ how much he was suffering until now?!

The golden hallway has just stuck it’s golden middle fingers up my ass and down my throat. I’m dizzy! I’m nauseas! I’m gonna blackout!

I look at Alec, he looks at me, and he finally hawks-out his rotten, festering words: “ _I’m dead because of him._ ”

“Alec, what . . .” the iceberg has been replaced with quicksand. I’m strapped with gold bricks and going down. “. . . what do you—”

“It was Magnus. Magnus hired Deo to kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I apologize for the delay in updating. January was a tough month for me and the writer's block went up on all sides, but I chiseled that sucker down with my trusty pen. I made this chapter EXTRA long and I aim to have the next one out much quicker too!  
> I could certainly use --and greatly appreciate -- your encouraging comments!  
> I sincerely hope that you are enjoying this story . . . there is more to tell and, I daresay, the best is yet to come. ;)  
> Stay safe, Maia's Pen
> 
> PS- I commissioned cover art for my other JALEC fit 'Taste of Danger', which many of you have read. If you click on the story you can see the art now. There are two versions, so look at chapter 1 and 2. I love how it turned out. Art is by Wooserr.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

(Alec)

Being in love with Jace has always been like cutting my own skin.

It only hurts me.

Until now.

Jace is the toughest person I know. While hunting I’ve seen him get stabbed-bitten-poisoned-burned- _you-name-it_ and just keep on kickin’ ass. My parabatai is _not a ‘fainter’._

But, he just fainted.

Jace’s skin went whiter than mine and then he went down. I caught him, _of course_ , but it was my love that knocked him out.

I lost my temper — _no_ , worse— I completely lost my shit. I should have retained emotional control, but Jace makes my control suicidal. When he wants something he’s like a hyped-up bull charging at a red flag; and that flag is the truth behind Deo and Magnus. Pre-fainting _nothing_ was going to stop Jace from capturing that flag and tearing it to bits.

The door was _just in his way._

 _I was just in his way._

My parabatai’s timing could not have been worse. I had just stepped into the shower (after feeding and attending to my sexual needs), but the bloodlust had not fully cleared from my system yet. The best way to describe ‘bloodlust’ is a supernatural ‘mega-hormone’ that makes me hungry, horny and jacked outta my mind. Bloodlust replaces rationale with impulsiveness, _so . . ._ basically it makes me more like Jace. And when Jace started relaying his outlandish theories, and then his plan to team-up with Magnus to rescue me . . . _that was it._

_I lost my shit._

Emotional lightning cracked inside my chest. It shattered the barricade around my heart that I’ve been _trying so hard_ to guard. The lightning ricocheted into Jace and _all_ of my emotions flooded and overwhelmed him. ‘All of my emotions’ as in my heartbreak over Magnus’ betrayal, but also my love for Jace. My frustrating-unrequited-everlasting-pathetic love for Jace. The duel emotions double-teammed him like literally being struck by lighting while a dam bursts and takes you out.

Jace probably had no idea what hit him.

I relocate Jace to the nearby bed and assess him. He’s freshly showered. I smell soap, shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, aftershave and an assortment of other hygiene products. If Jace’s goal was to distract my nose from the raw scent _of him,_ then he succeeded. But he’s had the opposite effect on my eyes. I can’t look away from my parabatai’s raw beauty. His face is visibly shaven, jaw smooth as a marble. I’m use to Jace having scruff and he looks _different_ like this . . . _more angelic,_ and my demon hand is _even more_ unworthy to touch him.

Jace’s seraph blade is MIA, but his stele is poking out of his pocket. Like me he’s wearing a robe — a black silken garment that’s currently bunched around his knees. The robe is tied loosely about Jace's hips, but the top flaps hang open showing me that he didn’t shave his chest hair. The robe fabric just _feels_ sexy and expensive and unlike anything Jace or I would ever choose to buy; but it's certainly Deo's style. Magnus' style too. I guess Deo and Magnus have the same preferences for men, murder and leisure-wear.

Mother Nature has tie-dyed Jace’s feet brown and green. He must have been exploring Deo’s property barefoot — which was stupid for so many reasons — and now his right foot looks more swollen than ever. But more concerning than Jace’s foot is his body temperature. My demon hands don’t need to touch my parabatai to diagnose his fever. The heat radiates from Jace’s skin like a bonfire.

“Dammit.” I curse at my parabatai. “Why are you fevered again?”

I dash into the bathroom, wet a washcloth and then return to Jace. I lay the cool compress upon his brow. Next I take Jace’s stele from his pocket. I’ll draw an iratze to reduce his fever and —-

“Alec, no!” Jace slaps my arm and I release the stele, dropping it on the bed. “Don’t touch it!”

“Dammit.” This time I’m cursing at myself. Grabbing the stele was just a reflex, but touching it _should have_ burned me beyond sunlight and . . . I look at my hand.

I’m totally fine.

Jace blinks like an owl that’s fallen from his nest. “Alec . . . wha-what? How did-did you to-uch th-that . . .?” He slurs like an owl that's fallen from his nest because he was boozing. My parabatai stares at my hand in disbelief, as though it’s a fake hand and I’m playing a prank ( _because I play pranks_ ).

“I don’t know.” I answer honestly. “I’m able to say ‘angel' again too, and I couldn’t say it yesterday.”

“That’s the . . . the fuckest thing.” Jace mutters, and I’m not confident that he really knows what’s going on yet. Nevertheless, he tries to sit up, but I use one hand to push his chest backward and the other to press the washcloth firmly against his brow. Cool droplets join hot sweat in washing Jace’s handsome face.

“Draw an iratze.” I order, pointing to his stele. “You could fry a demon egg on your face.”

Jace makes a face like the washcloth _was_ a demon egg. “I’m fine.” He insists, voice stabilizing; and tries to push the washcloth away. “I don’t need an iratze. Stop worrying, Alec. Why is worrying your favorite thing?”

“It’s not,” I defend, “ _you are_ my favorite thing.” I’m stronger and I hold the washcloth firmly in place.

“ _Fine_. Why is worrying your second favorite thing?”

“If you don’t want me to worry then stop giving me things to worry about!”

Jace considers my words and releases a defeated sigh. His hands fall to his sides like they’ve suddenly fallen asleep.

“You’re not okay, Jace. Hang on a second . . .” I zoom to the kitchen, collecting a bottle of water and a snack-size bag of pretzels. Jace needs to hydrate and consume some electrolytes.

I’m back within twelves of Jace’s heartbeats, but numbers nine-ten-eleven-twelve increasingly spike. By heartbeat thirteen Jace throws the washcloth across the room. On sixteen he bolts upright like he’s been shocked. And by twenty a gong of realization bangs against his memory banks. Those confused, drunk owl eyes become the eyes of a focused, volatile dragon.

And this dragon is ready to kill.

The stele drops to the floor and takes Jace’s composure along with it. My parabatai grabs my writs like he aims to kidnap me; then jerks me forward —our noses nearly collide! Those dragon eyes bore into mine like he’s scanning my brain!

“Alec . . .” Jace breathes my name like fire; squeezing my wrists as though I were prey. “Magnus! He . . . he hired Deo to _kill you_?! No . . . no, that can’t be right . . .” his words fizzle like flames in the rain and — _for a moment—_ Jace looks unsure if he actually said the words out loud.

The room becomes a frozen block of silence.

Jace’s heart beats once . . . twice . . . three times . . .and then he exhales all over the frozen block: “Dammit, Alec! Start talking!”

“Let me go,” I tug on my restrained wrists, “and I’ll tell you everything.” I could easily yank myself free, but I want Jace to release me on his own; otherwise he’ll just get even madder that he couldn’t hold onto me.

Those dragon sights wander my expression like searchlights, desperate to detect _any_ trace of misunderstanding. After four more heartbeats Jace opens his hands, freeing mine. But, before his hands can close, I stick the bottled water in one and the bag of pretzels in the other. “Consume these and I’ll tell you everything.”

Jace makes a snarly-sound. “You _just said_ you’d tell me everything if I let you go.”

“I’m adding to the terms.”

Jace probes our bond for _any_ wiggle-room, but my resolve wiggles like a brick. “Fuckin’ diplomat.” My parabatai growls as he tears open the bag of pretzels with his teeth. _The savage!_ He proceeds to chomp down on the pretzels like they are Deo’s most prized possessions. He then downs the water and throws the bottle as though he's aiming for Deo’s head.

“There!” My parabatai huffs, wiping pretzel crumbs from his chin. “Start talking or I'm gonna start punching everything in this house!”

I don't care about protecting the house, but once I tell Jace the truth then the house will only become his 'warm-up'. I know my parabatai, he’ll want to take on Deo, Magnus and every vampire that gets in his way.I can’t protect Jace and Magnus from each other forever, but I have to try. I have to be honest with Jace, but keep my delivery calm so that, _today anyway,_ the house alone will bear the brunt of his rage. 

Our sights aline and I’m surprised the air isn’t steaming. Jace is trembling and the fever isn’t to blame, it’s anticipation.

_Here goes . . ._

“I died because Magnus hired Deo to kill me and turn—”

“No. No way!” Jace interrupts and slams his fists into the bed; making the entire thing shake like he is. “You’ve misunderstood something or Deo has tricked you or—”

“ _Jace_ ,” I say his name like a warning, “can you please shut up and let me explain?”

My parabatai glares at me like I’ve slapped him, but shuts his mouth and nods.

“Magnus orchestrated my entire death to turn me into an immortal. He wants me to be young, looking like this,” I gesture to my face, “and to be with him forever. He couldn’t endure wondering if every hunt would be my last or, if I did grow old, watching me become weak and eventually die.”

Jace opens his mouth so I give him the _‘shut up’_ eyes and continue: “I already know what you’re gonna ask, _and yes,_ Magnus himself confessed all of this to me. He and Deo do have a romantic history, as you know, and they’ve remained on good terms. Deo was willing to sire me simply in exchange for that vase we were hunting for. Magnus had already given the vase to Deo as an advanced payment, and as a means to lure me, _well us_ , into the woods of Vermont where we’d be ambushed, overrun and helpless.’

“Jace, your phone didn’t work because Magnus ‘magic-blocked’ the calls. And the reason everyone in New York has so easily accepted my death is because of Magnus, not Deo. Deo didn’t brainwash anyone, he can only control his own vampires. Magnus cast a _Repulsion Spell_ on the word ‘Athens’ and a _Persuasion Spell_ on the story of my death. Anyone who knows me and hears the word ‘Athens’ will be disgusted by the idea of visiting AKA will never see me; and the _Persuasion Spell_ guarantees that anyone who hears that I was killed will automatically believe it, no questions asked. Everyone except for you, that is; which is why you were wise to ‘play along’ with my death charade to get Magnus off your back. If he thought that there was any chance of you reuniting with me you’d have never made it outta that infirmary. I bet you still wouldn’t be able to stand, and I also bet your hunch that Magnus ‘ _could have_ healed your foot and didn’t’ is accurate too. Now that I think about it . . . he may have cast a _Disability Spell_ _on_ your foot, purposely keeping it from mending.’

“Deo is a rare piece of shit, but in his twisted mind he’s just doing Magnus a favor: nurturing and training me. I mean, _okay yes_ , my sire wants to do pervy shit with me, but Magnus made him promise not to. Deo has found some loophole excuses to touch me, but he hasn’t crossed any lines, though that spanking was borderline.” I pause. Jace’s expression is stagnant as stone; he’s like a statue that’s been sculpted with an eternal look of confusion. I keep taking: “I’ve always known that Magnus was a bit envious of my attachment to you, just like how Clary gets irritated from time-to-time, but I never suspected that he resented our bond. However, he confessed that he felt our bond was like a death sentence — that The Clave had abused us as children by having our souls joined due to their lust for stronger soldiers. And, while The Clave’s motives may be true, I cherish my connection with you above anything else in this world. And, Jace, I’m _just so thankful_ to the ‘powers that be’ that our bond endured — _that we endured._ Deo tried to convince me that I was feeling a ‘phantom bond’ which would gradually fade away, but obviously he was wrong. Our connection runs far deeper than a physical rune. I feel you _so_ clearly, _almost_ as clearly as before now.” I touch the spot on my abdomen which once exhibited my precious parabatai rune. 

Jace continues impersonating a stupefied statue, but he speaks: “Magnus was unrelenting, Alec. He really wanted me to accept your death. He was desperate for me to believe that I was feeling a ‘phantom bond’ too. But,” Jace stands and begins pacing across the carpet like he’s trying to scrub the dirty stains from his feet, “I’m not confident that _this Magnus_ is _our Magnus_. I know you heard the confession from his mouth, but are you sure it’s him? Maybe he’s possessed? Or a shape-shifter or . . . or a Magnus from another reality? Maybe the real one is being held captive somewhere? I mean, _c’mon Alec,_ our Magnus could never ever be so selfish . . . so cruel to us all. When I was possessed by the owl Magnus gave up his magic to save me — _to make you happy_ because _you_ couldn’t live without me and _he_ couldn’t live without you and . . .” Jace hesitates, desperate to untangle himself from the nets inside his mind.

“Exactly.” I press. “Magnus couldn’t live without me. He said that our bond put me at constant risk. That every time I nearly died, it was because of our bond.”

“No way. Just no fucking way.” Jace scowls at me like _I’m_ the drunken owl. “Did Deo brainwash you or somethin', Alec? Is this some ‘sire bond don’t trust Magnus Bane’ voodoo shit? Because _I can’t believe_ that _you_ _can actually believe_ anything you’re saying to me!”

My words chip away at Jace's resolve like a feather to flint. I'm getting no where. If the circumstances were _literally_ _anything_ other than, well, _THIS_ , I would be overjoyed by Jace’s staunch belief in Magnus’ innocence.

I approach the ‘Denial Dragon’ and peer through the storm until I see sensibility within his eyes. “Jace,” I lay my hand over my dead heart for effect, “if you had a way to keep me forever, no matter the cost, would you do it?”

Frustration is eating Jace’s brain. “That’s not a fair question!” His voice hitches like Frustration just took a huge bite. “It’s different between parabatai than it is between spouses!”

“Is it? What about Clary?” I challenge. “Wouldn’t you do _anything_ if it meant keeping her forever?”

My parabatai starts pacing again, breaking our eye contact. “I would do anything to protect her life, and . . . and, I dunno, maybe if she was killed like Simon was I would consider turning her then. But I wouldn’t be selfish enough to premeditate her murder just to turn her!”

“What if you were an immortal and her mortal death was imminent?”

Frustration has fully consumed Jace’s brain and shit it out. All that’s left is that stubborn Herondale temper. “Never! Stop it!” He yells like Clary were actually dying. “I wouldn’t do that to her!”

I'm still getting no where. But I'm stubborn too. 

“What about me? If you became immortal, would you want to turn me? If it meant we could be together forever?”

“Your hypothetical questions are fuckin’ annoying!” Jace yanks on his hair like _he wants_ a bald spot! “I would _never_ murder you . . . but if you wanted me to turn you, I would. I mean, wouldn’t you do the same? You must’ve at least thought about turning me—”

“Never. Not even once. I could _never_ reduce you to _this._ ” I tell him and Jace _feels_ my sincerity like his own beating heart. “I’m not as selfish as the men who love me.”

My parabatai halts like he’s stepped on a landmine and _the slightest movement_ could make it go _BOOM!_ His eyes are wide and wet, pools of oil anticipating a lit match.

“You’re my _parabatai_.” Jace says the word like it’s the answer to every unanswered question in the universe. “I can’t even exist without you, Alec! And don’t you dare _even pretend_ that you could _ever_ exist in a world without me! How could you even categorize me with—”

“Then you can understand Magnus’ feelings and why he had me turned.” I sound like a robot and I need to feel like one too, at least until Jace accepts reality. “Magnus may not be my parabatai but, like you, he feels that he cannot endure his existence without me beside him.”

“First of all, _no_ , his feelings are not even _close to the same_ as my feelings for you. Your husbands’ love for you is insignificant shit compared to mine, but that’s all irrelevant anyway because it’s not him who had you killed.” Jace stares me down like I’m bullseye he’s determined to hit. I'm still getting no where. “It’s not Magnus. You can’t know for sure from just talking to him. There’s nothing to prove that he’s the authentic Magnus Bane.”

“It is _my_ Magnus who betrayed me. He did prove it to me.”

“How?!” Jace’s voice demands, but his expression is wary . . . a part of him doesn’t want me to explain any further. A part of him wants me to give up. He doesn’t want Magnus to break his heart too . . .

My parabatai's denial is the _only_ thing keeping him from dragon-storming _Kακία_. But allowing Jace to cling to his denial won’t get us any closer to freeing me from Deo. And, even though I’m a monster, _I want to go home_. I miss my family and, most of all . . . I need to stay with Jace. If I can’t escape Deo’s control then I may be forced apart from Jace for the remainder of his mortal years. Magnus may plan on me existing forever, but I only plan on existing for as long as Jace does. Whenever that day comes — may it be tomorrow or fifty years out —I need the freedom to end my existence and follow my parabatai into the afterlife. This is what I’ve always planned on, even before being turned. Neither version of me — mortal or immortal — ever had any intention of being in a world where Jace Herondale is not. And though I never confessed this truth to Magnus, I know he _just knew it_ and . . . it terrified him. Now I know why he drank so much every time cocky, rash, impulsive Jace went out hunting. Just one more reason why I’m now Deo’s eternal slave. My sire has me physically bubble-wrapped against any self-harm.

So _this_ , Jace, _this_ is why I would never turn you, because I don't want immortality, I only want _your mortality_. Your time to 'peace out' will also be mine. And maybe one day I'll be able to say these words to you out loud. 

“Alec!” Jace shouts my name, wrenching my focus back onto his words. “How?! How did Magnus _prove_ that he’s ‘your’ Magnus?!”

This is gonna be awkward, but not anymore than my boner ripping through my shorts, so I let Jace have my proof: “I know my husband’s mouth.”

Jace scrunches his face like my words are blinding him, but really he just doesn’t understand, so I elaborate: “Shortly after I was turned Deo arranged for Magnus to visit me at _Kακία._ But just before Magnus arrived Deo sire-forced me to drink nephilim blood. This nephilim blood effected my, _ah_ , ‘sex drive’ far more, _um,_ ‘intensely’ than even mundane blood does. Basically: I was really horny.” I flinch as Jace’s blood pressure climbs Mount Olympus, but carry on: “When Magnus saw me in this ‘aroused state’—,” I shake my head, enough beating around the bush: “—fuck it. Jace, it was an ‘aroused state’ that I still have nightmares about. I was _so aroused_ I thought I was stroking out— hallucinating! Think of the horniest you’ve _ever_ been and magnify the intensity by a million! I thought my balls and head were gonna burst! _It was agony, Jace_. And then Deo sire-banned me from moving my body at all, I couldn’t even jerk off. I was frozen. Trapped inside my body until . . . _well_. . . until Magnus got me off. Those were Deo's terms. Unless Magnus _did_ I’d remain a prisoner in my own body. _Hell,_ I’d probably still be sitting on Deo’s couch now.”

“WHAT?!” Jace screams flame — certainly scorching his vocal cords! He raises his foot like he really is a dragon and he’s gonna crush the bed!

“Stop!” I deflect him. “Let me finish! I’m only telling you this because I know my husband’s mouth. An imposter couldn’t have sucked me off . . . _like that_.”

“He sucked your cock?!” Forget ‘scorched’, Jace’s vocal cords are gonna be demolished! I’m sure the entire island is wondering ‘who sucked whose cock?' _Go figure,_ it's the blowjob that finally snaps Jace straight outta his denial. Had I known I would have started this entire conversation with that!

Continuing to tell Jace these details is like pouring gasoline down the dragon’s throat, so I keep my reply simple: “Yes.”

Jace punches the wall and his fist goes straight through! Drywall and gold paint flecks explode like a vamp getting seraph’d!

“So, what then, Alec?! Magnus forced his mouth on you?!”

“There wasn’t any force. Not like _that_ anyway. Yes, Deo forced me into the situation where I was desperate, but Magnus didn't touch me against my will.” I try to douse Jace's rage, but my words are as effective as spitting on a wildfire. “I welcomed the relief that Magnus gave me. _I begged him to get me off._ And, at that time, I didn’t know that he’d betrayed me. I thought that he’d come to _Kακία_ to rescue me. I found out the truth shortly afterward.”

Jace’s anger surpasses ‘dragon level’. He drowns his inner dragon and swells like the open sea — endlessly wild and dangerously unpredictable! Capable of crushing ships and islands and cities! I focus on remaining calm — I must stay a float so that I can keep him from pulling me down next.

“NO! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!” Jace wails like _I am_ drowning. His seething stare would melt the scales off of a dragon. “I’m gonna kill him! KILL HIM!” To demonstrate what he’d like to do to Magnus: Jace snags a painting from the wall and snaps it over his knee. The wooden frame busts into dozens of bits, sending splinters flying like darts! “But first,” Jace continues as he shreds what’s left of the painting, “I’m gonna break every sparkly bone in his sparkly body! Starting with his jaw — the jaw he used to suck you off! The jaw he used to order your death!” Jace kicks the wall twice, then throws a left hook, followed by a right. The wall resembles actual Swiss cheese due to its golden color. I’m surprised (and thankful) that his knuckles and toes aren’t bleeding.

I don’t even attempt to interrupt Jace — it would be like scolding the actual sea for making waves. I’ll figure out a way to explain the mess to Deo later. I knew that _this_ would be Jace's reaction and, right now, he _needs_ to get the fury outta his system, and better on the wall than on Magnus.

“Oh, _oh and then_ ,” Jace catches his breath and carries on his tirade, throwing a series of punches at an invisible Magnus (which is fine because he’s not damaging anything, he just looks absurd) “ _every single one_ of those magical, polished-up fingers are gonna snap one at a time! Magnus is _never_ gonna put his mouth or hands or even his cat eyes on you ever again! _Alec!_ Why didn’t you tell me all of this immediately?! This shoulda been the first thing you said to m—”

“Because of _this,_ Jace.” I speak quietly, gesturing to the ‘war zone’ state of the bedroom. “ _This_ is why I didn’t tell you. Because I knew you’d fly off the handle. I knew you’d want to rush off, confront Deo and Magnus, and then get yourself killed. You have a one track mind for vengeance and in _this_ instance it will be your end, Jace. Don’t go after Magnus, _please._ You’ll only be hurting me. I’ll never forgive Magnus for what he did to us and, as much as I hate what he did, I just . . . I can’t bring myself to hate him. I don’t want either one of you to die over me. I just want to be free of Deo so I can go home with you. That’s all.”

The ‘Jace sea’ stills, at least for a moment. My parabatai grips the robe fabric over his heart, gazing at me like I’m some kinda mythological creature. “Alec, you don’t still _love_ Magnus, do you?”

“I . . . I . . .”

_I’m pathetic._

_I’m a loser._

_I’m the shit that shit shat out._

_Stay strong, Alec. If Jace senses how much you hate yourself he’s gonna go nuclear! Speak calmly. Speak clearly. Convince him that you are gonna be okay._

“Magnus betrayed me. He broke my heart. But even my broken heart can’t simply unlove him.” My words are true, which makes me all the more pitiful. “A part of me will always love Magnus, but I want nothing to do with him. By hurting me he hurt mom and dad, Max, Izzy and, worst of all, _he hurt you_.”

The ‘Jace sea’ ripples like a hoard of sharks are under the surface. “I understand that _you_ don’t want to hurt him, Alec, _but I sure as hell do_. And, no matter how much you beg me not to, I have to kick his ass.” Jace’s words are delivered _so confidently_ — _so matter-of-fact_ — like Magnus is suddenly ‘just another Downworlder’ that needs to go down on his blade. 

My dead brain is exhausted. My dead body is spent. 

Jace continues: “Please think rationally, Alec.” I try not to laugh out loud at that. “I know you just wanna get free of Deo and go home with me, but do you _really think_ Magnus is just gonna stand by and let me take out Deo without intervening? Since they’re ex-lovers-partners-in murder then, no way. Magnus is probably gonna be blocking the way to Deo. That means he’s gonna be in my way for freeing you. And even if he wasn’t, Magnus doesn’t deserve to get away scot-free. He has to pay.”

“I know.” I say because I do. Jace is right . . .Magnus is unlikely to stand aside when we attack Deo. But maybe we can ambush Deo? Maybe we can strategize an attack where Deo is done before Magnus can get involved? Either way, I know that Jace confronting Magnus is as inevitable as the sunset, but it doesn’t have to be _today’s_ sunset.

Today’s sunset . . .

I look at the bedroom clock: no wonder I'm so damn tired, it’s already 7:34AM. I’m usually asleep by 5AM. Sunset isn’t for _at least_ twelve hours. And I need to spend these twelve hours asleep. My vampire body is hardwired to hibernate during the daytime; and the biological pull to sleep is consuming me faster than even my parabatai’s anger.

“Jace, _please sit down_ , okay?” I drop onto the bed and pat the space beside me. My bones and muscles feel like lead pipes and chains adhering me in place. Jace believes me. I’m ruined from the experience and I don’t have energy left for anything else. “We’ll figure everything out. We will. We just have to get to Deo before he can SOS Magnus. Once we kill him I’ll go home with you. I can hang around like Simon 2.0. The taller, handsomer updated version.”

“Don’t make fucking jokes.” Jace kicks the bed and the wood groans, but doesn’t bust (but even if it does, I’ll just pass out on the mattress on the floor).

“Sorry.” I mostly mean it. I might be too tired to mean it. “Please sit down?” I fold my hands in prayer and try to make a pathetic ‘woe-is-me’ face at Jace. He eyes me like I’m just plain pathetic though, and he’s not wrong at all.

“Healing my foot is the priority.” Jace begins pacing— _again_. He’s moving so erratically that he looks like some video game sprite that’s glitching. “My foot is holding up everything.” He halts abruptly, like a the video game froze, then snaps his fingers ‘eureka-style’. “I know! I’ll contact my warlock friend! She’s the reason I’m even able to _be here_ with you now. She set me up with an enhanced tracking talisman. Thanks to her anyone who tries tracking me this week will get a clear signal that I’m in Paris. I’ll see if she can check my foot for any ‘bad Bane juju’. Maybe she can even lift said juju, too?”

I’m trying to pay attention to Jace. I am. But his words sound funny — like he’s calling me from a walkie-talkie in an underground mine. _I just can’t with him ._ . . I need to lay down . . . gravity is pulling me down. I crawl across the mattress like I’ve been gutted. I make it to the center and collapse, laying flat on my stomach, my entire face submerged into downy pillow perfection. I don’t fear suffocation so I just speak into the pillow. If anyone can decipher my muffled words, it’s Jace. And if he can’t, _meh_ , I can’t care right now. I've fought with Jace too much and now I can’t fight the daylight anymore. “Warlock friend? Are you talking about old Clarissa? Your ex-girlfriend?”

“Ex fuck-buddy.”

“What’s the difference?”

“You're such a nerd, Alec.” I don’t look up, but I can hear Jace pause his pacing to tisk at me— _aaaaaand_ now he’s back on the move. “Anyway, once I my foot is healed . . .”

_Were those pretzels caffeinated? By the angel, why won’t he sit down?!_

“We’ll figure it out, parabatai, but not today, okay? Come to bed.” I flop out my right arm and point to the vacant space beside me. “C’mon. I’m fading fast. I have to sleep, Jace, then we’ll figure it out.”

Fuck it. If Jace wants to wear his feet down to bone then he can have at it.

“This bed feels like . . . falling into. . . a marshmallow.” I inform my parabatai and I hear him stop. I hope his ‘stop sticks’ this time.

I feel Jace's sight upon me. I feel his conviction sway. And, _finally_ , I feel his weight beside me on the bed.

Jace’s arm brushes mine. He feels sunburnt and I don’t like it. Why is his temperature still running hot?

_Dammit all._

I’m gonna fight the daylight a little while more. I have to. Jace needs me more than my undead body needs rest. 

I open my eyes, rolling onto my right side so that I’m facing my parabatai. He’s barely a foot away and already facing me. Jace is propped up on his left elbow and . . .

. . . he looks like some professional model posing for a men’s robe advertisement. If I’d just punched and kicked like a maniac my hair would look messy, but Jace’s looks sexy. His blond hair has fallen in such a way that it teases his lashes and my dick. Jace’s dark robe is draping open _just enough_ to flaunt his poster boy pectorals. Despite his hot body temperature Jace's nipples are peaked like he’s chilly . . . I bet his nipples are as hard as my . . .

Jace raises an eyebrow. _Great._ He knows I’m checking him out, but he’s only amused, not annoyed. My dignity is saved by his ego.

“You’re burning up.” I inform my parabatai as though my eyes weren’t just snacking on his body. “Please draw an iratze?”

Jace’s expression and mood shifts from amused to apologetic. “I’m not hot from a fever, Alec, I’m . . .” he squints at me like I’m a font size too small to read. “I’m hot from being too close to you.”

“Oh . . . okay . . .” I can barely hear my own lame little mumble.

_I knew it! It’s me! It’s my fault! I’m making him nervous!_

I start shimmying away from him, but Jace’s honed sword hand is fast — he comes at me, snagging the flap of my robe and holding me in place.

“Alec, _no_ , don’t misunderstand . . .” My parabatai tightens his grip on my robe; his bare knuckles press into my chest and I hope they leave permanent imprints on the outside to match the inside. “You’re not the only one who’s been keeping a secret . . .” those beautiful eyes clash both in their color and conviction. “Listen, there’s an, _um_ . . . 'irregularity' of sortsin our bond. It started yesterday, after Deo assaulted you. Somehow your own heightened sexual arousal is affecting me. My body is reacting to yours like . . . _like_. . . I’m getting turned-on. _Alec_ ,” he says my name like it’s a matter of life or death, “my skin is hot because I’m . . . I’m hot. Like hot _for_ you.”

“WHAT?!” My turn to destroy my vocal cords! My vamp-strength overrides Jace’s grip and I easily peel those hot hands from my robe and toss them! I’m already stopped and dropped, so I do full rolls away from Jace — as though my body _were_ on fire! I cease rolling once I reach the edge of the bed, putting a solid five feet between us. Repositioned, I study my parabatai through bond and expression . . . scouring for _any_ evidence _at all_ that he’s joking or lying or even just exaggerating! But the confirmation is like staring at the largest font possible through binoculars: I can’t misinterpret anything.

Jace is telling me the truth.

“So . . . _anyway_ ,” Jace raises both eyebrows, clearly unimpressed with my alligator rolls away from him. “I’ve gotten a few erections around you, like when you were piggybacking me, _that was a doozy_ , at least I didn’t rip through the shorts though. And I’ve been doing my damnedest to hide them. I’ve actually got a semi now, but the robe is so baggy you wouldn’t know unless you looked . . .” he points toward his cock as though it were a commonplace sight. I summon _every-fucking-ounce_ of my resolve and keep my own sight locked on his head only. The talking one. “Alec, I don’t want you to feel awkward around me or anything. But I figured I should tell you incase you see me with an obvious hard-on. I mean, _don’t worry,_ the attraction —or whatever this is— is all physical.” Jace smiles like he’s trying to reassure me that there’s no boogieman under the bed. “I don’t have any romantic feelings for you or anything.”

I wish the boogieman would crawl out and stab me through the heart right now — _oh wait_ , Jace just did it for him.

Sadness has stolen the words from my mouth. It takes me several seconds to reclaim them, and then several more to thoroughly berate myself for even feeling sad.

“Of course you don’t.” I try to sound nonchalant, as though Jace had simply told me that he didn’t like pickles or snow storms or anything but . . .

. . . _me_.

 _Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Alec! Of course Jace doesn’t have any romantic feelings for you! You knew this. He’s never had romanic feelings for you! Did you_ _actually hope dying might change that? Make a straight man gay? Well, it didn’t. And now you’ve made shit awkward by feeling disappointed by something you have no right — you’ve never had any right — to ever feel disappointed about!_

Hiding my disappointment from Jace is like trying to hide my erection while naked and with my arms tied behind my back.

“Alec . . .” Jace says my name like _I’m_ the boogieman and _I’ve_ stabbed _him_. “.. .you’re disappointed.” It’s a statement, but he asks follow-up questions anyway. “You don’t still have feelings for me though, right? I mean, you got over me years ago—”

_Feelings? Oh, you mean how you are the love of my life?! You mean how I only ever let myself fall in love with Magnus because I knew I couldn’t have you?_

_I_ _can’t be here right now._

_I need to get away from Jace. Away from his semi-hard-dick and fully-stupid-brain._

“Forget it.” I say, and roll again . . . this time right outta the bed. “I’m gonna crash in another room.”

“No, c’mon, parabatai, let’s talk about this.” Jace sits up — his hair falling over those needy eyes, his robe sliding down his left shoulder, presenting his perfect, firm bicep — and, _fuck him,_ he just looks sexier than any living creature has the right to ever look! “Alec, c’mere.” Jace reaches for me like he wants to wrap me in those perfect, firm biceps and hug me until one of my heads pops off. I already know that the southern one will be the first to blow, then I’ll just blow the northern one off myself.

_I can’t stand it!_

And the fact that Jace has admitted that he has a fucking semi-hard-cock right now is . . . _ughhhh,_ fucking torture! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! Since I’ll never actually fuck Jace, I might as well fuck my own thoughts by thinking ‘fuck’ over and over and fucking over!

“Alec, _please_ , I had no idea that you still had . . . _feelings for me_ . . . ” Jace sounds _genuinely surprised—_ as though he’s just found out I’m secretly a clown actor for kid’s birthday parties. 

I stare him down like he’s the fucking clown. A clown with a butcher knife to carve out my useless pulmonary organs. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” I make it to the doorway before Jace’s heart can beat again.

_By the angel, I am so PATHETIC!_

Jace rises like a spectacular, golden sun and closes the distance between us. He doesn’t touch me, but he’s close enough that his breath warms me the way sunlight use to.

“Your feelings matter to me, Alec. Yours are the most important feelings in my entire world.” Jace’s voice . . . his face . . . his heart . . . they are _so sincere_ that they nearly bring bloody tears to my pathetic eyes.

Until they don’t.

“Forget it.” I turn to leave, but . . . _ouch._

_Our bond . . ._

This sensation is odd . . . _sad_ . . . like that time when I was a kid and I accidentally stepped on and broke my favorite toy. It sucks being the one to crush what you cherish the most.

Only this sensation is ten-million times worse.

“Okay,” Jace sounds like he broke his favorite toy, too, “if you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t. But, _please,_ don’t sleep in another room. Just let me hold you, okay? You need sleep. I need sleep. So let’s rest together today and then tonight we’ll sort everything out. Please, Alec, don’t make me beg. I’ll do it.”

“I’d like to see you beg.” I face him and fold my arms across my chest stubborn-Jace-style.

My parabatai falls to his knees and gazes up at me like _I_ were the bright one — some sun god he’s unworthy to behold. Then Jace’s arms drop and raise like he’s fanning my legs. “Oh, please, my benevolent parabatai, I beg you, stay with me!”

_Dammit._

He looks adorable.

And from this position Jace could suck my cock perfectly— _okay, stop . . ._ get him up.

Get him up!

GET HIM UP!

“Get up! Enough. Fine.”

Jace stops fanning — _thank the angel, as he’s just fanning that fire in my loins!_ He rests on his knees . . . gaping at me through those long bangs like he’d do _anything_ to appease me . . . _anything at all_ . . .

 _Shit._ I have a semi now too. Jace can’t know! I don’t wanna hear any _‘Look, Alec! We're twinning! Matchy-matchy’_!

I grab Jace by the shoulders and hoist him to his feet, retracing my hands once he’s steady. “I’ll stay. But if you get a full boner then _do not_ tell me about it and keep it on _your side_ of the bed.”

“ _My what_?” Jace blinks like I’m using Pig Latin. “But _my side_ is whatever side you’re on—”

“Not if you get a full boner!”

“But that's a double-standard. We both know that you’ll have a full boner guaranteed, you probably already do.” Jace bends down like he’s gonna inspect the status of my cock!

I cover my groin with both hands, shooing him with my foot like he’s a pesky cat. “I’m leaving.”

“No, no, fine.” Jace raises both hands in surrender. “I’ll try to keep my cock to myself.”

“Try?!”

“I will if you will.”

“That’s not funny.”

“If we can’t joke about this then we’re just gonna cry."

"So you're allowed to make jokes and I'm not?"

Jace only grins like a champion. "C’mon, Alec!” He pushes off of his good foot and leaps into the bed like Superman! He lands dead center on his stomach and groans like he’s just been kicked in the balls— _ohhh._ “Oh fuck! Fuck! I landed on my boner. Mother fucker that hurts!”

I pull my ‘cock-blocking’ hands away _just to applaud,_ and then join Jace on the bed.

I’m smart enough to land on my ass though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for reading Chapter 14. =) Okay, so this chapter was 'stagnant' in that it was all one continuous scene from Alec's experience . . . BUT!!!! Chapter 15 is gonna ping-pong all over the damn place so get ready! Ping-pong locations, perspectives AND emotions at that! WEEEEEEE!!! I just need to get a hand massage so I can keep up with the demands my imagination is putting on my dear writing fingers!  
> ****Please leave me a comment**** to let me know your thoughts. Your comments keep me motivated to keep telling this parabatai story! =)  
> Best wishes to you, wherever you are in this beautiful world!  
> I hope you are safe and healthy,  
> Maia's Pen


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